Rogue
by Frederick Grace
Summary: Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? "If a fallen saviour is what they want... A fallen saviour is what they're going to get." DarkHarry, AU after Book 5. Contains extreme violence and slash pairings.
1. The End

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you dont have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**The End.**

Red.

Green.

Violent Orange.

Shocks of Gold.

The curselight flashed over marble floors, fracturing the world into a blinding twister of hexes, death trailing in multicoloured sparks. The world was burning in screams and mayhem, but he had eyes only for her. He ran, and ran, eyes narrowed. He was dimly aware of people firing Stunners at him, their voices dim and shrill like dying robots. Ducking automatically, he ran on, through the dusty rubble and the blaze of war, his eyes fixated on her dark hair as she ran on. His trainers sqeaked over the polished floor as he hurtled into the Atrium, thoughts of Sirius and death and revenge and, Oh _Christ_ Sirius!

A shock of pain ran through him, and he skidded to a halt, collapsing to his knees. He retched, again and again, vomit and tears splattering over the tiles. He stayed there, hunched over on hands and knees, his head spinning and his heart aching, until a sudden burst of cackling laughter sent goosebumps spiralling up his arms and across his back. He froze, unable to even breathe as she laughed, laughed and laughed, mocking him, celebrating her victory.

He looked up slowly, her face blurred and unfocused through his broken glasses. Why was she **still** laughing? He gritted his teeth, his breathing coming faster as she laugh and laughed and laughed. Every insane shriek was like a knife in his chest as he hauled himself to his feet, eyes screwed shut, trembling with barely suppressed anger.

He could feel his rage swirling around him in scarecly controlled waves of raw magic, red and swirling, like mists of pure fury. He could dimly hear her voice, taunting him, messing with his head.

"Did you _love_ him, Potter?"

Well, actually, yes. Yes he did love him. And this madwoman, this crazy **bitch** had gone and killed him. She killed Sirius, SHE killed SIRIUS.

An inhuman snarl was ripped from his throat, and he heard her crazed laughter faulter as his eyes snapped open, a blaze of green, like the killing curse. He watched as she took a step back, still smiling. She didnt stop smiling. Not as he raised his wand, not as he aimed it straight at her stupid, grinning face. Her smile never faltered as his eyes blurred in righteous anger, and he hurled the curse at her, the word tasting like blood and pain in his throat.

"**CRUCIO!**"

She was laughing in the throes of the torture curse, and when she stood, _still goddamn smiling_ and had the goddamn nerve to mock him, and tell him he _didnt mean it_, that he _wasnt angry enough_, did she think he didnt love Sirius? Was she saying he didnt care that she KILLED his GODFATHER?!

And suddenly, the world stopped.

He wasnt shaking anymore, just standing, staring.

Completely, completely calm.

He could hear people screaming, but it was muffled and oddly soothing, like it had always been there.

He looked at her, looked her right in the eye.

His voice didnt sound like his voice, and the words that came tumbling out didnt sound like the words he wanted to say.

"Ah, Bellatrix. But I **do** mean it, you see. I really, **really **do."

And then that curse, again and again and again.

And she wasnt laughing any more.

She was screaming.

There was a moment of disorientated panic, orange like candlelight, splattered with blood.

Then, deep in the heart of Hogwarts School For Witchcraft and Wizadry, Harry Potter awoke with a scream.

Panting, he groped wildly for his glasses, and shoved them roughly to his eyes, before staggering out of bed, and puking all over the carpet. He could hear people around him, asking if he was okay, what was wrong. _I'm surrounded by morons. What the fuck do they _think_ is wrong?! _Sighing tiredly he scrabbled to his feet and gave a weak smile that didnt quite reach his eyes.

"Sorry guys. Just... Just a nightmare. Thats all. Just a dream."

And as they turned away, appeased, he sunk down onto the windowsill, pressing his forehead to the cold glass, and a slow, dim smile spread across his lips.

_Yeah. Just another dream. Thats all it was. _He shivered as the scene flashed before him again. His godfathers look of eternal surprise, Lestrange's damnable **smile**. He sighed, gazing out over the mist ridden grounds, trees looming like wizards hats, thestrals whirling through the clouds, dead things flying. Rain spattered pathetically against the windowpane, trailing moonshadows like tears down his cheeks, spilling from his dull green eyes. He looked down at his scarred, stained hands and bit his lip to keep from screaming in anger and despair.

_Yeah, Potter. A dream. Except, y'know, generally speaking, when you dream..._

_**Yo**__**u get to wake up.** _

**Authors Note: **Sorry its a such a short first chapter... It just felt like a natural break, yknow?

Next Chapter - Home Again (Life at the Durselys is usually as close to hell as mortals can get. Will this year be any different?)

And if you feel like it, please review.


	2. Home Again

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary:** Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Home Again.**

_It's raining again… _

Harry Potter sighed, and bowed his head, forehead resting on cold glass. He had been awake since the nightmare and stayed curled up on the window seat ever since, watching the sun rise. Someone (probably Ron,) had come to bother him about something (probably packing,) earlier on, but he'd just sat there. Not talking. Not moving. Scarcely even thinking, as the few brave rays of sunlight were all but extinguished by the storm clouds that had rolled over the castle like the banner of darkness unfurling over his mind. Eventually, however, even the soothing, repetitive sound of the raindrops spattering down the crystal windowpanes just wasn't enough. He slid to his feet, and padded across the thick red carpet, heading down the polished wooden staircase. He trailed aimlessly into the common room, seemingly oblivious to the stares and whispers that followed his path to the portrait. Tumbling into the corridor, and shivering slightly as his bare feet met cold stone, Harry turned and saluted the portrait, grimacing slightly. The Fat Lady frowned down at him, her Chinese-White pearls glinting with Lemon Yellow flecks of faux-candlelight.

Harry's face flickered slightly, some unidentifiable emotion clouding his eyes for a moment, as she shifted her considerable bulk, her Rose Pink and Salmon shaded silk dress crinkling as she glared down at him. "I do not appreciate sarcasm from you youngsters! Why, in my day-"

The young hero coughed slightly, his eyes widening. "I meant no disrespect." He whispered, his voice barely more than a hoarse croak. "I was meaning to thank you. After all, you not only keep those lions caged safely away, but you allowed me to escape from their den. That deserves a salute of honor, does it not?" Before the stern painting could drudge up a suitable reply, he turned on his heel, and padded off, dark hair flopping forwards over his face as he stared determinedly at the ground.

There is, however, one slight problem with wandering around a castle full of students whilst looking at your own feet. The problem being, it is almost certain that you will walk into someone, and it is almost guaranteed (taking Harry's poor luck into account at any rate,) that whomever you walk into whilst pondering amongst your daydreams, will not be a friend.

In Harry's case, it was almost predictable, the inevitable collision, and the somewhat painful movement of being sent sprawling to the floor. Harry lay winded for a moment, his eyes staring blearily at the unfocused ceiling. He heard someone shrieking in a rather familiar, pissed-off voice.

Only one person could reach that level of fury this early in the morning. He sighed tiredly, and sat up; arms limp at his sides, legs sticking out in front of him. He looked for all the world like a broken marionette, gathering dust until his master once more gathers up his strings and leads him for a dance. He was staring straight in front of him, dazed, the world still spinning and out of focus, like a badly taken photograph, when his view was suddenly blocked by a pair of bright grey eyes, and his ears suddenly sparking with pain as a shout reverberated into his head.

"OI! POTTER! I'm speaking to you!" He blinked, and tilted his head up slightly, smiling vaguely as he realized his earlier assumptions had been correct.

_Malfoy…_

Draco Malfoy could hardly believe his eyes. Harry Potter, the supposed Savior of the Universe, was sitting there, sprawled on the floor like a puppy that's just been kicked. And instead of shouting at him like the deranged, overly-emotional Gryffindor he was, Potter was actually SMILING at him. True, it was a kind of misty smile, a real Loony Lovegood smile, but… Well, something about that smile really **bothered** Draco. _Probably_, he reflected, _the fact that it's there at all. Why in Merlin' name is POTTER, POTTER of all people! SMILING at me?! It's…_Draco's musings on the plain obscenity of Harry Potter daring to SMILE at him were cut short, as Potter hauled himself to his feet, because then, now he was standing in the dim, slightly clouded light, Draco could see. Potter was tired. He was pale, paler even than Malfoy himself, and that just wasn't normal. His eyes were dull, and all of that fight, the hope, that goddamn infuriating persistence and determination- gone. All of it, just… As though someone threw a dustsheet over his Potter-ness, his damnable Gryffindor qualities, and stuffed them in the attic. Draco was, to say the least, stunned.

"Ah… Potter, I-" he broke off as Potter turned that creepy, slightly dead looking gaze on him, and his courage wilted.

Potter was now staring at him, and it was that fucking Loony Lovegood look again! That kind of dazed contemplation that crazy people have when they don't quite know what to make of the world. Draco shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and he took an involuntary step back.

"Just… Watch your step, Potter."

He frowned again, and flung Harry's hastily Reparo-ed glasses at him, before whirling round and stalking off. And for once in his life, he didn't even consider going to whine to someone about that nasty little half-blood messing up his robes. Instead, all he could think about were the black rings, like bruises, the stamp of nightmares, which marred Potter's pale face, framing those once sparkling eyes.

Harry stood there for a while, watching the spot of stone one which Draco Malfoy had been standing previously. His mind was fuzzy, and slightly blank – presumably from shock. Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Ice Prince, and his arch-rival – had just fixed his glasses, and told him, in essence, to be careful.

What for? What on earth for? And that look… Malfoy had gone a bit pale, and his eyes had flickered a little, as though he were troubled by something. Harry scratched his head and shrugged. Deciding that Malfoy just wasn't worth the brain cells it would cost him to figure this enigma out, he just wandered off again, staring fixedly at his toes, as though they held all the answers he could ever be looking for.

It was just gone nine, and the Hogwarts Express was finally, _finally, _pulling away from Hogsmeade station. Harry was sitting alone, in a compartment near the back of the train. Ron and Hermione had disappeared off somewhere again – _probably to talk about what could possibly be wrong with me NOW…_ Reflected Harry grumpily. _Really, is it too much to ask to have a bit of SPACE every once in a while? _

He determinedly ignored the voice in his head that was telling him he was being a moron – space was exactly what they had given him, and all he was doing was whining about it… He sighed, and slouched down in his seat, the movement of the train lulling him into a fitful sleep.

_He was running through a rainbow of red, green, violent orange, shocks of gold lighting up the sky surrounding him. Somewhere in the distance he could hear breaking glass, and screaming. So much screaming. The soundtrack to his life, it seemed. And then- The laughter, the goddamn psychotic laughter that filled his mind, blinding him with rage, his sanity dribbling out of his ears in strings of blood as he clutched at his forehead, and screamed and screamed and screamed and-_"Jesus CHRIST!"

He sat up with a yell, breathing fast, his back glued to the leather seat, his t-shirt soaked through with sweat. Shakily, he wiped a hand over his eyes and flopped back bonelessly, settling back into the rhythm of the train, as his heart slowed, and his breathing evened out. His eyes flickered closed, and he bit his lip hard, forcing himself to stay awake. _Any more of those dreams,_ he thought wryly, _and I'm going to completely lose it…_

He shook his head, and phased out the errant thought that had snuk through the barrier he was busy creating for himself. Harry tugged off his t-shirt, and lobbed it into the dark recess of his trunk, dragging out an old, faded black one of Dudley's. He had just dragged it on over his head, when the compartment door burst open, making him jump backwards in surprise, whacking his already aching head against the luggage rack.

Swearing loudly enough to make a sailor blush, he raised his head to glare at the intruders, only to be met with the steely glare of an irate Hermione, her hands clasped firmly over Ginny Weasley's supposedly innocent ears. This made Harry scowl even more – it had been Ginny herself that taught him most of those words!

He mumbled something that he supposed sounded vaguely like an apology, and collapsed back onto his seat, before his knees gave way. His ears were still ringing with the echoes of his nightmare, and now, to top it off, he felt like his head had been cleaved in two with a cheese-slicer. Oh, and Hermione was giving him a look that would make Voldemort himself go white with fear. He tipped his head back, and let her scolding wash over him, as he slowly sank back into the white-hot static of his unfocused brain. _Harry! HARRY! _"HARRY!"

His eyes snapped open, and he leapt up, banging heads slightly painfully with Hermione. She lurched backwards, sighing irritably. "Honestly, Harry. I was just waking you up!" He blinked, somewhat owlishly, before snapping his attention to the musty train-window glass. Peering through the murky tinge and the sunlight filtering through the dusty fingerprints, he could see… London. They were back.

He let out a low sigh, before hauling his trunk off the rack, and staggering off the train. He muttered a quick Bye to Ron and Hermione, allowing himself to be hugged within an inch of his life by the latter, and receive a manly handshake from the former. Not quite making eye contact with them, he hurried off towards the barrier that separated his two worlds. He stepped into the brick; the world suddenly going dark, everything rushing around him like it wasn't really there. He gulped, suddenly unable to move, just standing there in the darkness, waiting, trembling, and his breath coming in short gasps. He staggered forwards, spots of yellow and orange dancing across his vision. And then- Muggle London. Harry looked around, frowning. Everything was so… _grey._ There was none of the riot and color of Diagon Alley, none of the cheerful noise that usually accompanied the ever sociable wizarding world. He placed a hand on his chest, and smiled grimly. Even his heart seemed to be beating slower. He turned his gaze to the grey sky, such a dirty kind of off-white color that there didn't seem to be a sky there at all. Just nothing-ness. Thirty minutes, two punches and a constant stream of verbal abuse later, and Harry was curled up in the back seat of Uncle Vernon's shiny silver people carrier, letting the sound of his Uncle's constant complaining fade into the distance. Soon it had dulled to a faint but persistent drone, like an angry wasp.

Harry had no trouble sinking back into his shielded mind, welcoming the sweet oblivion of whiteness as he hid his conscious mind behind his own Occulumency shields – a technique he had perfected three days ago, the day after… Well. To the outside observer he looked like he was asleep, but in reality… He was swimming steadily, keeping himself separated, so as not to drown in memory.

True, he could look inside his own mind as though it were the pages of a book – much like a Pensieve, he supposed, but… Well, it had to be dangerous. And Hermione, had she known what he was doing, would probably have stopped him immediately on the grounds that he was exploring uncharted territory. According to the many history books in Hogwarts Library anyway, as not one of them had held any record of what Harry had christened Mind-Fading. After all, that's what it felt like. So, his eyes drifted shut, and his head rolled back, the glowing patters of raindrops reflecting traffic lights painting his skin like a rainbow, as the car drove on, towards Privet Drive.

An hour or so later, and Harry staggered out of the car, his eyes sticky with sleep. He hauled his trunk through the door, and tossed it ceremoniously into the Cupboard Under The Stairs. He knew the routine, after all. He had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, as he thought of the small bundle of possessions wrapped up in his invisibility cloak, which he had deposited slyly behind the begonias on his way to the door when he pretended to stumble, and nearly fall. Dudley had had a great laugh about that, but, Harry thought cheerfully, it him that would be laughing when he could pace the streets of Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent without being chased by Death Eaters – or, in fact, Dudley himself.

Carefully keeping the smirk out of his eyes, he made his way silently to the stairs, expecting to be mostly ignored, as had been the norm the previous summer. Instead, he was surprised by a large, meaty hand clapping down on his shoulder, almost making his knees buckle. He spun round, and flinched back at the leering face of his Uncle.

"I…Is there something y…you want, Uncle V…Vernon?" He hated the way he stammered, like a frightened child.

_That's just the way it is, Harry. It seems that Gryffindor House has deserted you once again. _He almost sighed despairingly, but caught himself just in time. _Yeah. Whenever I walk through that stupid front door, its like all my bravery, my courage, my loyalty, just drains right out of me. Maybe I should have been in Hufflepuff. _He didn't even dare think about the house the hat almost put him in, didn't even dare think those thoughts again, thoughts of Tom Riddle, his smiling face, telling him that they were the same, the very same… Harry shook himself, and listened to his Uncle's unkind laugh.

"Don't be foolish, boy. Did you honestly think they wouldn't write and tell us?"

Harry blinked, and opened his mouth to ask what the hell Vernon was on about, when his Uncle raised a fist, and punched him hard in the face, sending his head snapping back into the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. He scrambled to his feet, gasping in shock, his glasses in a tangle of metal at his feet. His Uncle was laughing again.

"Stupid boy! They told us about that stupid, criminal godfather of yours, about how he die-"

Vernon was cut off by Harry's roar of sudden anger, as he leapt forwards, intending to smash his guardians stupid, fat, purple face into a pulp. He had got no further than landing a glancing blow on Vernon's cheek, when Dudley wrenched his arms behind his back and span him round, smashing his face against the wall. Vernon's livid face suddenly appeared in sight, and Harry flinched as spittle sprayed his face.

"YOU STUPID, GOOD FOR NOTHING FREAK! HOW DARE YOU TOUCH ME, BOY! I'LL TEACH YOU, TO SHOW ME SOME RESPECT! I AM THE OWNER OF THE HOUSE, AND I EXPECT TO BE TREATED AS SUCH! But, you're too stupid to understand that, aren't you, freak!"

His voice had sunk to a malevolent whisper, every word dripping with poisonous hatred.

"You're nothing but worthless, scum! A monster, not even _human_! I bet your godfather did it himself, didn't he, couldn't wait to be rid of you…"

Harry flinched, tears springing to his eyes as he thought of Sirius. It wasn't true! Sirius loved him! He-

"Actually, it was probably YOU, wasn't it, BOY. LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M SPEAKING TO YOU! I said, I think it was you, you murderous little shit; I think it was your fault. You and your freakiness got your own godfather killed! KILLED!"

Harry could dimly hear Vernon's manic laughter, and Petunia's stifled whimpers, as he stood there, the fight draining out of him. His eyes fluttered closed, and he drooped noticeably, sliding to the floor as Dudley released him, sinking back into the safety of his head. When he woke up, someone was knocking rather loudly on the Cupboard door. Ah. The Cupboard.

_It would appear that I have been… Demoted._ Harry thought resignedly to himself, as he struggled into a seated position that allowed him to straighten out his shoulders, his knees bent, toes resting against his trunk. His trunk! The Dursley's were stupider than they looked. Well, as stupid as they looked anyway. He grinned, and set about searching for something he could pick the lock with. He'd just found one of Petunia's old hairpins that he'd stashed there years previously, and was about to set to work, when a burst of laughter from the living room made him jump. His heart beating furiously, he leaned to the side, and pressed his ear to the cold wood. That laugh… High pitched, and manic. He shivered, pressing the heels of his hands firmly over his ears. It couldn't be… Not here. He screwed his eyes shut, and sang softly to himself.

_Stupid nightmares. Stupid mind, playing tricks on me, always trying to trip me up. 'Course she's not here. She'd rather DIE that come somewhere like here. So just, just GROW UP, Harry. Grow up._

It could have been minutes later, or even hours, that the door of his Cupboard burst open, and he crawled out awkwardly, his eyes squinting in the sudden burst of artificial light. A booted foot met with his ribs, and he collapsed to the carpet, coughing. Staggering to his feet, he shoved past who he assumed was Vernon, burst into the living room, and stopped dead. There on the couch, the three Dursleys sat, bound and gagged, sporting looks of complete terror on their faces. Fear that extreme could only mean one thing.

Magic.

There was someone here, someone who could do magic. Someone who had just hauled him out of the cupboard by his hair, someone who was standing behind him, laughing and laughing and- He reeled back slightly in shock, swaying as his mind attempted to send itself back behind the safety of the barriers, like a frightened fox lurching back to its den.

_No! Not now! I need to, need to be here, I have to, have to save them! _

He drew another gasping, shaky breath as she started to talk, and he turned round slowly, his heart in his throat.

"Figured it out, have we, lickle baby Potter?"

She was here.

Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman of his nightmares.

She was here.

**Authors Note: **Okay, so this is more like the right length for a chapter. I hope you liked it. Oh, and if some things aren't making complete sense, then don't panic! It'll figure itself out in the end.

Next Chapter – I Remember Pain (The aftermath of Bella's surprise visit. I can assure you, it won't be pretty.)

And if you feel like it, please review…


	3. I Remember Pain

Disclaimer: Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary:** Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

WARNING! This chapter is a bit darker, and contains character deaths! You have been warned…

**Rogue.**

**I Remember Pain**

Harry staggered backwards in shock, tripping over the hearth-rug and crashing painfully to the floor. Bellatrix kept laughing, laughing and laughing and laughing… Harry scrabbled backwards, until his back was pressed firmly against the floral patterned wall, hands clamped over his ears – anything to stop that damnable noise! His eyes were screwed shut, multicolored lights, white hot desperation, wine-red anger, and fear, black as night, dancing all around him. His teeth were gritted so tightly together that he could feel sparks of sharp pain shooting up his jaw, but if he let go, if he let go…

Too late. It was far too late.

He was screaming, screaming and screaming, and were those tears? He couldn't help it, couldn't stop it, he couldn't even breathe as the scream went on. And then it wasn't even his anymore, it was just Harry screaming, and that was okay, because he wasn't even listening, he was sinking back into the soft grey oblivion of his mind, humming along to some hopelessly cheerful love song, playing on the kitchen radio.

He fell backwards, falling past his shields, through memories, beyond all feeling. He kept falling, falling and falling, on and on and on – he fell so far, so, so far, that he didn't even hear Bellatrix's manic shriek of triumph as the cast the spell.

"IMPERIO!"

The silence was beautiful. The same dirty non-color as the clouds. He smiled, closed his eyes, and slept, his body surrendering to her control.

Harry didn't blink as he raised the kitchen knife above his head.

He didn't flinch, didn't cry, as he brought it crashing down, in a spray of ruby red.

He didn't wake up, didn't scream, as he broke his own heart, again and again.

He didn't even realize, didn't notice the blood staining his hands.

He didn't watch Bellatrix leave, didn't feel himself curl up in pain.

He didn't remember watching them die, their looks of terror, their life's blood spraying his face, his hands, the whole of him.

He didn't remember anything.

When Harry woke up, it was dark. He blinked, and sat up, swearing as his head hit the underneath of the stairs. He rubbed his head slowly, and frowned in confusion as his hand came away sticky. Frowning, his patted his head, his face, his arms, his torso, his breathing speeding up as he realized he was soaked with the stuff. _What the hell is it?!_ His mind screamed at him, and he shivered. _I don't know! I don't remember!_ He brought his hand to his face, and sniffed hesitantly. _Oh, God! It can't be!_ Gathering all his remaining Gryffindor courage, he took a deep breath, and tentatively licked his index finger. Immediately his face screwed up in disgust and horror, tears springing to his eyes as he identified the rich, metallic taste filling his mouth, clouding the air. He retched violently, his stomach clenching in shock. He knew he was crying, and he didn't even try to stop. _What happened?! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?! I don't remember, I don't, I, Oh Christ, Oh, fuckohfuck I don't remember!_ He scrambled into the furthest corner of his cupboard, hands fisted in his unruly hair. He sat there, in silence, crying noiselessly, his mind spinning, his eyes closed, crushed by the enormity of his fear.

Finally, his eyes snapped open, green and terrified. "I…" His voice was hoarse with pain, filled with the echoes of his screams. "I remember…" He licked dry lips, wincing at the bloody taste. "Pain…"

Then his mind collapsed with the weight of his grief, and he withdrew into the safety of himself, leaving Harry, a huddled shadow in the darkness of the cupboard, a silent ghost of the Gryffindor he used to be.

And the kitchen radio played on, soft music bubbling through the silent house, even though there wasn't anyone left to listen. Not anymore.

**Authors Note: **I hope you liked this chapter. I couldn't quite figure out where to end it – I didn't want to stop! But I hope that this is okay.

Next Chapter: I am Snape (Snape arrives on the scene. WARNING: NEXT CHAPTER WILL CONTAIN EXTREME BLOODY VIOLENCE. This fan-fiction is rated M for a reason.)


	4. I Am Snape

Disclaimer: Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**WARNING! THIS CHAPTER WILL CONTAIN EXTREME BLOODY VIOLENCE! **

**DO NOT READ IF THAT BOTHERS YOU/IF YOU ARENT OLD ENOUGH TO READ AN M RATED FIC.**

**Next chapter will contain a less gruesome summary of the events in this chapter.**

**Rogue**

**I Am Snape**

_It would be raining, wouldn't it? _Thought Severus Snape bitterly to himself, glaring at the weeping skies with distate. _The one damnable day that Albus Damnable Dumbledore decided to send me on yet another damnable mission…_ He snarled under his breath, his dark eyes piercing though the gloom. He was walking briskly, his robes billowing and conspicuous in the neat Muggle neighbourhood. He repressed a shiver as the wind howled around him, swirling leaves and general muggle muck around his ankles, and walked on, his face as blank and cold as the street he was currently ignoring. The moon was full, and he could have sworn he could see large, hulking shadows lurking behind every neatly clipped topiary tree, and hear horrible, blood-curdling howls with every breath of wind that streamed past his cloaked ears. He froze, as a small fox scrabbled out of a nearby hedge, and dived out in front of him, its coat silvery-grey and ghostly in the moonlight. Severus sucked in a breath sharply, and pressed a hand to his chest, his eyes snapping shut in a desperate attempt to shut out the moonshadows that were swirling around him, clouding into phantoms of his worst nightmare. _Don't. He's not here. Not here. He's safe, you know he is. Come one, Severus. Come on! Oh, for fucks SAKE!_ He shook himself, gritted his teeth, and kept walking, the only sign of his discomfort being the slight twitch of one eye as the fox yowled somewhere in the distance behind him, its ghostly calls echoing off terraced house after terraced house, following him as he slipped silently into a small alleyway, leaving the street empty once more.

_Point Me!_ His wand span in his pale hand, and he trudged slowly towards his destination. Eventually the flat tarmac under his feet faded to crunching gravel as he made his way up the driveway. He paused by the door, his face pale, jaw tight, as the memories rammed into him, knocking his breath away. _Ah, Lily. It seems like just yesterday that you- No. This isn't about Her, Severus! This is just a mission. He's not her son. He's not anybody. Just a job. What's the matter with me tonight?!_ He sighed, and murmured a soft incantation. There was a sudden flare of bright white light, and he slammed his bleeding palm against the neatly painted front door of Number Four Privet Drive. He felt the emergency wards flicker, and there was a strange tingling sensation as though the very particles in the air had sneezed violently. He nodded to himself as the door swung slowly open, and he slipped inside.

_I don't know what you think I'm going to find, Albus… Just because your stupid alarm went off in the middle of the night, it doesn't mean- Well. It's probably nothing. I mean, what could happen to Potter here?! _As he walked slowly down the darkened hallway, his Lumos shading the cream carpets a dull green; he didn't know who he was trying to convince – the Headmaster, or himself. _If it was that serious, he wouldn't have sent me. _

_Would he?_

He had reached what he presumed was the living room door, and slowly, slowly, pushed the door open. There was an almighty creak, and he froze, his heart in his throat. Cursing himself, he cast a Silencing charm on the hinges, pushed the door fully open, and stared.

It was like walking through the gates of hell.

Red.

Everywhere, everything, nothing but red.

Deep scarlet, almost black.

His eyes scrunched shut, shutters slamming down around the fortress of his mind.

_From the moment I stepped into that damnable wizard's office, I should have known what the look on his face meant. His eyes weren't twinkling with knowledge, or love – they weren't even blazing with anger as they are occasionally known to do. They were blank, and empty, exactly like my own. Albus Dumbledore, the epitome of all things Gryffindor would mask his emotions for one reason only. Fear._

_From the moment he told me the origin of the alarm, from the moment I saw Fawkes spiral into my office, shrieking in dismay, I should have known. I should have known what to expect. _

_Potter._

_That boy and trouble go together like… Well, like Voldemort and murder. Which, co-incidentally, also seem to be key figures in Potter's life. _

_But…_

_Then again…_

_I don't think even Albus could have foreseen this. _

_I hope he didn't foresee this._

_Would he have still sent __**me**__ if he had?_

_Why, why would he have sent me? I've seen enough terror in my time – Why would he have sent me to face the horror that lay behind that innocent looking kitchen door?_

_Why?_

When his eyes finally flickered open, the first thing he noticed was the walls. Blood, thick and dark, splattered across the once pristine white tiles, sprayed over the floral paper in an obscene rainbow of gore. And the smell… Severus gagged and turned away. The smell was hideous, spreading across the room, springing tears to his eyes as he gagged, the rich stench of human flesh burning, seeping into his senses, as ominous as a thunder-cloud.

His heart beating in his ears, he approached the oven. Reaching out, he slowly grasped the handle, hands immediately becoming sticky with stringy smears of semi-congealed blood. Bracing himself, he slowly opened the oven, a cry of horror escaping him as the charred head and torso of Petunia Dursley flopped out, sprawling across the polished linoleum, leaving the rest of her behind amongst what appeared to be the remains of a Sunday Roast. At the sight of her bloody face leering at him, her hair charred to singed clumps, her cheekbones finally visible through the stringy remains of her powdered skin, the normally hardened spy turned away, one hand clamped firmly over his mouth. He gagged, and retched, vomiting into the sink until he was left dry heaving, cling to the edge of the work surface, the sight of his dead-beloved's sisters' staring face branded forever onto his mind. Her bloodstained, sightless face gazing up at him would haunt his nightmares for years to come, he was sure.

It wasn't until he was stumbling backwards, desperate to leave that he saw the words. Daubed onto the worktop in what was presumably Petunia's blood;

**FOR THE FOOD YOU NEVER FED ME**

A large, stained kitchen knife was slammed into the marble surface at the end of the sentence, like a morbid full stop, buried almost to the hilt. Severus eyes widened and he shook his head, almost running from the room.

Staggering into the gloom of the hallway, he stood for a moment, shaken. This was not the work of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, then. This was…

_**No. **_

_There must be another reason! It can't be- He just wouldn't!_

_Couldn't._

_Oh God, he couldn't have…_

Shaking his head, his mind throbbing with the effort of trying to understand, Severus gritted his teeth and walked forwards, face blank once more. Giving the gloom at the top of the staircase a dark look, he slowly began his ascent, grimacing as he slipped slightly on the stained stairs, carpet squishing underfoot, soggy with fresh blood that led in a dark trail of crimson up into the darkness. As his eye slowly adjusted to the shadows, he could dimly make out the silhouette of a person. "Hello?" he cleared his throat, wand held out in front of him. "P...Potter? Potter, is that- Oh, GOD!"

Dudley Dursley was dead, that was obvious. Severus had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming. The boy was hanging from the ceiling by his broken wrists, feet dangling over the top step, his head flopped backwards, blood congealing in a puddle beneath him. Taking a deep breath, Severus edged past, careful not to touch the teenager's corpse. He winced, as he saw Dudley's face, contorted into a grimace of death itself, his eyes blank and staring, tongue lolling uselessly, his face pale as a ghost, blood still dripping thickly to the floor, running over his once chubby cheeks and into his matted blonde hair. His throat had been cut. And there, on the wall behind him;

**FOR THE TIMES YOU PUSHED ME DOWN**

**AND LAUGHED WHEN I DIDN'T GET UP**

Now visibly shaking with the effort of not thinking about what the gristly message could mean, Severus glanced around, and began to follow Potter's bloody footprints down the hall, the marks of his bare feet clearly visible against the cream shag-pile carpet. The spy paused in front of the last door.

_How many bodies, how much death, what depths of torture… Is the death sentence of our kind left bloody and discarded behind this last door?_

The doorknob was smeared and sticky beneath his grasp. Holding his breath, he turned the handle and stepped inside. Light was filtering through the sturdy iron bars at the window, casting the body of Vernon Dursley with silvery moonshadows.

He was pinned spread eagled to the wall, hands and feet magically bound by what Severus could only presume to be the man's own intestines. His grimacing face was purpled, his piggish eyes absent, leaving the sockets gaping and bloody, blood trailing like tears down his bulging cheeks. His flabby lips were pursed, and- stitched together?! Severus gaped in horror as he took in the rest of Dursley's mangled corpse. His hands were locked into twisted claws where rigor mortis had set in. His chest had been hacked open, bits of flesh hanging like bedraggled ribbons, His ribs were snapped open, and… His heart. All that was left of the man's heart was a charred, blackened lump, like a leaden stone. The fat muggle's gut was sliced open too, his organs spilling messily to the floor like a writhing mass of flobberworms. Severus' gaze fell to below Dursley's waist, and he leapt back, face pale. Now he knew what was stuffed into Dursely's mouth – what the man had died choking on.

His vision swam, and he sat down heavily, barely taking in the words that glistened, oozing in the moonlight.

**TO MY DEAREST UNCLE**

**FOR THE TIMES YOU SAID YOU HATED ME**

**AND MEANT IT**

**NOW ALL THE WORLD CAN SEE YOU FOR WHAT YOU REALLY ARE**

**A HEARTLESS, THOUGHTLESS, COWARDLY MUGGLE. **

Severus buried his face in bloody hands, fighting against the cry of despair that threatened to burst out of him. _How could I let this happen?! To her son, her only son! Lily… _

_I'm sorry._

_I failed you, I failed you both. _

_I'm so sorry._

It could have been minutes, could have been hours before Severus finally stood, his face pale, his manner determined. His voice was steady as he murmured, "_Point Me_, Harry Potter". He ran swiftly down the stairs, back past the body of the youngest Dursley, and into the hallway. He frowned, as his wand gestured towards the front door. _No… He can't have… Even he wouldn't have been that stupid… Oh, for the love of Merlin, surely he has more sense!_ He walked forwards slowly, stopping, surprised, as his wand glowed slightly, pointing at a door to his left. The Cupboard Under the Stairs.

The door was hanging wonky on its hinges, door handle shattered into splinters. Cautiously, Severus hooked his long fingers around the edge of the door, and pulled it open, not even blinking at the long, ear-splitting shriek of rusted metal that followed.

Potter was huddled in the corner, hands fisted in his matted, unruly hair. His eyes were wide open and glassy, his face pale, streaked with blood and tears. If it wasn't for the shallow, irregular rise and fall of his chest, Severus would have thought he was dead. The potions master frowned, and reached out a tentative hand. He grasped Potter's shoulder and couldn't help the flicker of worry that crossed his usually stern features. The boy was freezing cold, his bony shoulder feeling much like that of a corpse. He licked his lips and whispered, "Potter?" The boy didn't respond, didn't move. "Potter? Potter, it's me, Snape. Potter, can you hear me? Potter? Potter!" He sighed, and sat back, frowning. The boy was practically a zombie, little more than an empty shell. Severus' gaze wandered from Potter to the rest of the cupboard. The boys school trunk, and … He shuddered. The walls were lined with the rough, crayoned scribblings of a toddler. Blurry pink blobs, one topped with a wild swirl of black, the other, several scrawls of shocking red. And… All around them, swirls of waxy green. Shivering, Severus trailed his fingertips over the surface of the drawing, smooth and softened with age. He blinked and looked away, his piercing black eyes moving over ragged shreds of a security blanket, and… Potter's owl, dead and rotting in its cage, scrawny legs sticking straight up in the air, eyes open and glazed like orange marbles. Severus looked down, before resuming staring at Potter. That final glance at Potters despairing form was all Severus needed. He nodded, and made his decision.

Moment's later, he was standing on the street of Privet Drive, Potter slumped at his feet, watching Number Four burn.

**Authors Note: **Sorry this chapter took so long – it was absolute hell to write… I hope the final result was okay, and that I managed to handle the horror/character deaths without traumatising anyone… Maybe review and tell me?

Next Chapter: Poppies and Smoke (The beginning of the end, really. Harry wakes up, and the world has ended.)


	5. Poppies and Smoke

Disclaimer: Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary:** Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Poppies and Smoke.**

White.

It was almost blinding.

Harry let out a slight whimper, and screwed his eyes tightly shut, his breathing shallow and uneven.

_Where am I?_

All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, like the roar of a speeding train.

_What… What happened?_

His brain was filled with fog, his temples throbbing sharply. He hissed in pain, and raised a hand to cover his eyes. Or rather, he tried to. The cold click of metal made him snap open his eyes in surprise, pain be damned. He groaned as the light bit through his head like a fiery sword through his skull, and squinted painfully at his hands. He could dimly make out the glitter of chains around his wrists, preventing him from moving. Immediately, his eyes widened in shock, and the panic began to rise, a dizzying tidal wave waiting to crash. He gulped, yanking his hands harder, desperately, not even flinching as the panic filtered out the pain of steel biting into his frail skin.

_Who… Who has done this?! Why… Is that __**blood?!**__ Did… Did Voldemort? This… Am I… Have I been captured? Oh, God, what happened?! What the hell __**happened?!**_

His breathing was growing faster, and in the blackness behind his eyelids, a multitude of fireworks sparked, dazzling him. His heart was drumming a tattoo inside his chest, and he could feel his consciousness slipping as his oxygen-deprived brain collapsed into the darkness.

Then, he could feel strong hands, tilting his head, cold glass pressing up against his lips. He could smell the bitter tang of a potion, and cried out, thrashing wildly, almost vomiting in fear. He was released, and fell backwards, until the soft touch of a hand on his back brought him snapping back to consciousness. Someone was whispering gently to him, and the glass was back, pressing insistently against his bottom lip. He drew in a sharp breath, and froze, gasping, as he frantically tried to identify the tangy, leafy scent. In desperation, he cracked open his eyes, and through the muddled, bedazzling haze of light, he could make out a soft cloudy blue, surrounded by misty blackness. A calming potion. He parted his lips tentatively, and the hand on his back continued to stroke soothingly, as he gulped down the potion, as light as a cloud on his tongue. The small trickle of cool liquid sent a sense of calmness radiating through him, and finally, the white hot panic began to clear. His breathing slowed, and he relaxed, leaning forwards into the embrace of the stranger. The hand on his back stilled, and the soothing undertone of gentle words stopped abruptly. Harry didn't care.

He breathed in deeply, hiccupping slightly. _That smell… Like wild grasses on a forest floor… Tree bark and candle's wax. It smells like… Like… like a potion. A potion. Or… A potions maker-_ His eyes flew open and he jerked backwards, wincing as the restraints at his hands and feet pulled taught. His glasses were shoved roughly onto his face, and he looked up fearfully, into the blank face of his Potions Professor. "P…Professor Snape." His voice came out as a hoarse whisper, and he frowned.

_What happened to my voice? It sounds like I was screaming. When was I screaming?!_

Snape blinked at him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice low and urgent as he whispered, "Potter, I must urge you not to panic, whatev-" Before he could finish, the doors of the Hospital Wing burst open, and Albus Dumbledore strode across the room, his face dark, his eyes blazing. Snape stood back, his face blank, and Harry blinked, completely bewildered. Dumbledore stopped at the foot of the bed, and looked at Snape, ignoring Harry completely.

"He is awake, then." Snape nodded, looking bored. "Has he said anything?" Snape glanced at Harry, who was surprised to see those emotionless eyes flicker with something almost akin to sympathy, before the Potions Master turned back to the Headmaster, his poker face once again firmly in place. "Nothing but my name, Headmaster. He was hyperventilating, and a Calming Draught was necessary." Dumbledore nodded vaguely.

"I see."

Harry, however, did not see. _Why is he talking like I'm not even here?! Why in Merlin's name has he got me locked up?! Why is he ignoring me, __**again!**__ It's just like last year, why, why, _"Why won't you LOOK AT ME!" The cry was hoarse and raw, and Snape turned away, assuming correctly that the statement was not aimed at him. Harry stared up at the Headmaster, who was staring adamantly at the wall behind Harry's head. Blinking back a sudden sheen of tears, Harry pressed on, shaking slightly. "Why… Why aren't you looking at me? It's just like last year, you're ignoring me, you're treating me like a child! No, wait, not a child. You're TREATING ME LIKE HIM! I'M NOT VOLDEMORT! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! I'M NOT HIM, YOU SAID SO YOURSELF! I'm not him. I'm not, I won't, I won't ever be him, you said so! YOU PROMISED!" He fell silent, his voice bouncing off the blank white walls, anger and frustration radiating from him like fire from the Earth's core.

Finally, Dumbledore shifted his piercing blue gaze to the teenage boy before him. For once, his eyes were not cheerfully omniscient, they were powerful, and icy cold. Harry shivered. "No. You are not him. But, Mister Potter, you are like him. I saw Tom Riddle, I saw what his thirst for attention drove him to, and I see it in you, too. Is that why you did it, Mister Potter? Because you wanted me to look at you? To notice you? I assure you, many people will be looking at you after this. But not with love, not with praise. They will look at you in anger, disappointment, hatred-"

"That's enough". Snape's voice was quiet, and angry. "Albus, that's enough." the Headmaster turned back to his spy, already opening his mouth to remind Severus' of his place, when Snape continued. "He's right, Headmaster. You aren't looking at him. Look at him, for god's sake, LOOK at him!" Albus whirled round, and frowned. Harry was sitting bolt upright in the bed, shaking violently. His eyes were wide and staring, and he seemed completely oblivious to the tears that were trickling silently down his cheeks. Albus gaped at him for a moment, before turning back to Snape. "Is it possible…? Is it possible, Severus, that he doesn't remember? Can it be, that he simply, doesn't remember?!" Severus raised an eyebrow, and was about to reply, when a voice from the bed had them spinning back to face Harry in an instant.

"Remember what?"

Rolling his eyes at Dumbledore's stunned silence, Snape stepped forwards. "Mister Potter, I must urge you to stay calm." Harry's eyes narrowed and he edged as far backwards as the cuffs would allow. "Why are you being nice to me?" he snapped, eyeing Snape suspiciously. "You haven't insulted me or my worthless, arrogant, bastard of a father once yet, and now you're trying to be nice. Why?" Snape licked his lips and cleared his throat. Silently, with a flick of his wand, the restraints dissolved to silver mist. Harry's eyes widened and he stared up at Snape, completely thrown. "Potter… I have some bad news." With that simple statement, Harry felt as though his blood had turned to ice. He nodded, dazedly, his mind forming a single, desperate thought.

"Who?"

Snape looked at him, expression unreadable. "Your family, Potter." Harry's head snapped up, and he glared at the Potions Master hatefully, a sneer spreading over his previously terrified face. "Well there we go, there's the good old Snape we know and love. What the hell was that for! I thought you meant… God, I thought… But my family? I haven't GOT a family, you cold-hearted bastard, they were KILLED, fifteen years ago, you sick b-"

"MISTER POTTER! Kindly DESIST with your foul ramblings! I was not referring to L- To your parents, you imbecile; I was speaking of your Muggle relatives!" Harry was completely thrown. Snape cleared his throat, and looked away, his voice dropping back to a murmur. "Potter. The Dursley's are dead."

Harry reeled back in shock. "The… The Dursleys?" His voice was scarcely more than a whisper, as though his voice wasn't big enough to comprehend the enormity of the words he spoke. He inhaled sharply, his face pale as the pillows he had fallen back against, and Severus cursed himself silently for being so callous and abrupt. "Potter, I-" He broke off at the look on Potter's face. It was a look of complete horror, a soul-crushing blend of acute misery, and complete desperation.

_The Dursleys?_

_Dead!_

_U…Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia? My mother's sister!_

_Dead!_

_Dudley?! My cousin. My, my only relatives,_

_All of them, _

_Dead._

_Gone._

_Oh, oh Christ! They're all GONE._

_Everyone, all of them, all, dead, and, and GONE,_

_Because of me._

_This is my fault, all my fault,_

"All my fault!" The cry was heart-wrenching, and even Snape felt his heart break a little more as Potter let out a frantic wail of grief, his wild, raw magic swirling around, a cocoon of strength shielding him from the hurt of the truth. Harry rolled onto his side, knees curled up to his chest, face buried in shaking hands. "Oh, God… Oh God, I… I…" His voice dissolved, and he lay there, silent and shaking, a few lone tears dampening the soft linen beneath his cheek. He inhaled sharply, his breath hitching as he choked slightly on the lump of guilt and grief that seemed to be forming in his throat. He turned his tear-filled eyes to Snape, and somehow, somehow he managed to find the strength to ask the question, whose answer he least wanted to hear.

"How?"

_How…How did they die? Who was it? I'll make them pay, I swear, for what they've taken from me- But how? Was… Was it quick? D…Did they know what was happening, were… Were they in pain?_

Somehow, impossibly, Snape seemed to understand, his dark eyes flickering with remorse. He cleared his throat, and looked away, mumbling softly. "I… I am… truly sorry, Potter." Harry quirked an eyebrow, reminding Snape, with a sickening jolt, of himself. The spy frowned slightly, but held his gaze, the unspoken words deafening in the silent Ward.

_Sorry for what, Snape? Sorry for what?!_

"For your loss." His voice was calm and composed, and he held Potter's gaze, his face blank. "I am truly sorry for your loss." Harry nodded, his mournful gaze flickering from the black-robed Potions Master to the glaringly obvious empty space where Albus Dumbledore once stood. The wizarding hero let out a scarcely audible sigh, before a sad, almost wistful smirk crept slowly across his pale face, his chapped, bloodstained lips spreading into an eerie semblance of a smile. Severus felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, as Harry muttered softly, "Don't be sorry. They were lost to me a long time ago. Oh, so long ago…" Severus looked away again, unable to face the Killing-Curse green eyes that threatened to burn into his very soul.

_Is… Is it possible? Is it really possible that the Slytherin within has us all deceived?_

Severus shivered, as his mind sparked with brutal images of Harry Potter, his face sprayed with blood, bring the knife down again and again, a smile of hatred etched across his face, demonic laughter spilling from his mouth, his green eyes widened with horror and exhilaration. Gagging slightly, Snape was snapped back to reality by the softest of sounds. The stifled sob was nearly inaudible, and for a moment Severus was almost sure he had imagined it. A quick glance over at Potter revealed he had not been mistaken. The boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet dangling; his hands limp and useless by his sides. He looked like a lost little child, and as tears began to pour steadily down his face, he let out a whimper of sadness that was deafeningly loud in the silent room. Fisting his hands into his unruly hair, still semi-encrusted with dried blood, Harry sat there, steadfastly ignoring the hot trickles of grief falling from his eyes, as he fell further and further into confusion, mumbling quietly to himself.

"But… But they can't, not really… A dream, all a dream… How, how could I let this happen?! How could I let Him take them from me! How could I have done this, how could I have left them there to die?! Why, why did this happen to me, again?! Why does he keep killing, and killing, and- When will it stop?! When there isn't a single piece of my heart left for him to break…" Harry was snapped out of his daze by a cold hand clasping his bony shoulder, a slender piece of wood being pressed firmly into his unresisting palm. He looked up sharply, ignoring the twinge his neck gave in protest. His mouth fell open, but before he could even ask, Snape cleared his throat, and spoke, his Slytherin Mask never faltering, not a single fleeting glance of emotion appearing on his stony face. "Potter, listen. I am not giving this to you as a weapon with which to seek revenge. Rather… I give this to you in the hope that you remember who you are, and the path you are here to tread." Harry's face wrinkled in confusion, and he glanced back down to the wand in his hand.

_The… the path I am here to tread? What the hell does that mean?! But… He gave me back my wand. My- Hang on. I left this… How could… He was there. He… he found me, them, he was there, at Privet Drive! _

Harry shivered slightly, before deciding to risk it. "P…Professor Snape?" The boy's tentative call was enough to snap Snape back into focus, and he stepped forwards, frowning down at the teenager, just as he used to. "Yes, Mister Potter?" Harry cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak. It took three attempts, and a great deal of mental yelling, before Harry could force his unresponding body to obey him. "Can… I mean, Will you, will you please… Please, take me, take me back?" Snape quirked an eyebrow, but Harry would not be deterred. "I… I know I probably shouldn't go back, I know… But… I just want… I need to see. Please?" _Please?_

Thirty minutes later, Harry and Snape apparated into the middle of Privet Drive with a deafening crack. The moment he saw the place he used to live, Harry hurtled from under the safety of the Invisibility Cloak, and ran forwards, disregarding every fiber of logic that was protesting at the stupidity of running, undisguised, towards the place he used to live – particularly as it seemed Voldemort could now breach blood wards. He stopped dead when he reached the edge of Number Four, Privet Drive, and just stood. He had never noticed the feel of the Blood Wards while he lived there, but… Now, he stood here, and for the first time in his life, he felt completely, and utterly lost. He had never liked living at the Dursely's, but now, now they were gone… He walked forwards slowly; gravel crunching under his newly-transfigured trainers, past the tulips, blackened in their flowerbeds, and the begonias, shriveled and dead in their charred pots.

The house was gone. His first (memorable) home was completely gone, reduced to a pile of smoking rubble, glowing ashes still fluttering into the sky, a morbid effigy of fiery butterflies. He didn't know how long he stood there. All he knew was that suddenly, it was all too much, and his heart contracted in his chest, the pain of his loss forcing him to his knees, rubble and scorched glass sharp under his skin. He was dimly aware of the pain shooting through his legs, and vaguely noted that the crushing weight on his chest seemed to be increasing with every labored, smoke-tainted breath he took. His eyes drifted shut, his mind blocking out the sounds of an angry Dumbledore and a protesting Snape, filtering out the sickening stench of fiery death. In the safety of his head, Harry let himself sink, drifting down into the deep softness of his dreams, memories of the Dursley's swirling all around him.

_Uncle Vernon shouting, shouting and shouting, a sudden pain across the back of my head, a pain that is nothing compared to the agony of a five-year old's broken heart… Aunt Petunia, looking at me with disgust, and hatred, not a single spark of pity in those remorseless eyes… I'm so hungry. So hungry, and so afraid… Dudley, chasing me, chasing me so far, so, so far from myself… I hate them. I hate them, so, so much. So why does it hurt?_

He swallowed loudly, the blood pounding in his ears, as more memories sparked to life, sending shooting pains tearing through his temples.

_Uncle Vernon, storming into my bedroom after I had a particularly bad nightmare… The shock that flooded through me when he tossed me a packet of sleeping pills... A glimpse of Aunt Petunia, through a crack in a door, clutching a battered Mother's Day card, tears dripping over the carefully scribbled "love from harry x x x x x". Dudley. Giving me a furtive glance, and a slightly sticky boiled sweet on my sixth birthday, a near silent "Happy Birthday" whispered far away from his parents prying ears, the sweetest sound I'd ever heard... I… I loved them. Despite everything they did, I loved them. I… They weren't nice people, they weren't good people. But they were mine. And.. And now… They… They're…_

His eyes fluttered open, tears falling thick and fast down his pale cheeks, washing away the grimy bloodstains, tracks of pure white visible under the soot. Slowly, he reached forwards with a shaking hand, and grasped a handful of the fine, grey ash. His breathing hitched, and suddenly, suddenly, his heart was too small to contain the pain any longer. A wail of grief, so loud and so desperate that it would break even the coldest of hearts tore through the blackened air, and he hurled the handful of ashes and grit as hard as he could, small flecks of white-hot glass in a spray of his blood, splattering over the ruins. Clenched fists slammed down on dead earth, a solid thud of rage and misery, and still Harry screamed. His hands were pressed over his face as he cried, deep, furious sobs, his self-control shattered with the weight of it all. With a final roar of grief, he fell silent, forced to his hands and knees, his body still shaking, wracked with the ghosts of his cries.

Breathing deeply, he forced his eyes open, and through the blurred veil of tears, he watched curiously as a pure white feather floated slowly to the ground. He reached out slowly, the feather clean and shining against his grimy hand, wincing as he was forcibly reminded of yet another friend he had lost. "Hedwig…" He mumbled, his voice hoarse and deadened. It seemed to take an eternity for his gaze to find what he was looking for. An unfamiliar snowy owl, a white blot in the darkened sky, hovering above him, a scroll of parchment clasped in its talons. His heart safely shuttered once more, Harry stood, and reached for the letter.

"-COULD HAVE DIED!" Dumbledore fell silent, his ranting interrupted by a sudden, unexpected yell.

"KREACHER!"

Harry was standing atop the rubble, parchment clutched in a white knuckled fist, a demonic smile spreading across his face. "KREACHER! AS THE LORD AND MASTER OF THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK, I COMMAND YOU!" The sniveling wreck of a house elf appeared with a crack, a look of fear etched on his ugly face. Bowing so low that his pig-like nose scraped across the charred remains of his new master's childhood home, Kreacher seemed about to speak, when Harry silenced him with a look. His next words were so soft that Dumbledore and Snape had to strain their ears to hear them. "Take me home."

And then, he was gone, in a blaze of ice-blue anger and crazed laughter that echoed out over the deserted alleyway. The two older wizards looked at each other, and disapparated, leaving the rain-soaked muggle street in silence once more, smoke spiraling up into the night sky, clouding out the moon. And there, in the midst of the rubble, a cluster of poppies, as deep, and dark as the blood from which they were born, swaying mournfully in the drifting midnight-summers breeze.

**Authors Note: **So what was in that letter? Why does Dumbledore seem in desperate need of some anger management classes? Why is Snape being so nice? Everything will be revealed next chapter… Sorry this one took so long – I kept getting really stuck, and sadly, I think it shows. If parts of this chapter seem a bit forced, forgive me. I promise to make up for it next chapter.

Anyway, **please, please, pleasereview**, and tell me if you liked it!!

Thanks to **Ellesra** and **Seoulangel** for their constant reviews – and particularly for Seoulangel's help with my slightly appalling grammar…

Next Chapter: Potter: Lord Of Darkness (Grief does strange things to people. Harry begins to discover who he might have been, if only he'd taken that other path…)


	6. Potter:Lord of Darkness

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary:** Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Potter: Dead Man's Robes.**

In hindsight, Harry had to admit, of all the times and places he could've arrived, this was most probably not the best. In fact, atop the kitchen table, during a secret Order meeting, at a house whose location is supposedly a highly guarded secret – Yeah, more like the worst.

The second he arrived, the gunshot-crack of Kreacher Apparating still echoing in his ears, laughter still spilling from his mouth, several things had happened. Firstly, the ornate silver candelabras sparked to life, flames bursting forth from dusty candles, the House reveling in the return of a willing Master. Secondly, Harry had to duck, flinging himself to the slate floor, in order to avoid being blasted into atoms, as Remus and Kingsley leapt to their feet, curses shattering a large, empty goldfish bowl on top of the old mahogany dresser. Winded, Harry sat up, rubbing his bruised shoulder. He scrabbled to his feet, eyes narrow, wand out, the sharp knob of a dresser digging into his lower back as he tried to find his footing. Licking his lips, he glanced around the suddenly silent room.

They were all here – Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, Molly, Arthur, Bill, Mundungus… All the usual crowd. But something wasn't quite right… Harry's eyes flickered over the gathering one last time, before he let his wand drop to his side. He bowed his head, staring at the floor, as the first shocked murmurs began to hum in his ears, swelling to an almost deafening roar of confusion. _Oh… Fuck. I forgot… He's not here, he can't… They aren't on my side – not anymore. What did Dumbledore tell them?! Do they… Do they think… What if they think it was… Me? I can't lose these allies! I'm not strong enough on my own!_

He was snapped back to the present by a tentative hand on his shoulder. He dragged his head upright, and stared into the terrified golden eyes of Remus Lupin. He blinked, waiting for Remus to speak, but evidently his former professor was lost for words, and just stood there looking like the world had ended. Again. _Ah… So Dumbledore did tell him. But he wouldn't have believed it, not Remus. He would have protested, screamed, refused to accept it. 'Not Harry!' he would have cried, 'Not my Cub! Not Harry!' And then I waltz in, all bloody, wand at the ready…_

"Remus." Harry muttered, feeling his face grow hot under the scrutiny. Remus just stared at him, trembling, his face paler than Harry had ever seen. Harry swallowed and let his gaze drop to the floor. "R…Remus, I… I didn't… I wouldn't, not… Not even them, Remus. You have to believe me, I wouldn't…" His voice trailed off, Remus let out what could only be described as a whimper. Then, before he could do so much as draw a breath, Harry was clasped in a back-breaking embrace, Remus' tears soaking into the back of his t-shirt, his in-humanly strong fingers bruising Harry's already battered back. He hissed slightly in pain, but hugged Remus back, feeling a slight flutter of courage surge through him. _Here is at least one person I can count on. He believes me, trusts in me. He will be on my side in this… After all, who else would he be fighting for? Who else is there left for him to be fighting for?!_

It seemed like an eternity, but eventually Remus pulled back, his eyes golden, his whole frame shaking. He cleared his throat, and tried to smile reassuringly, but when he spoke… It wasn't the soft, warm voice of the chocolate-loving bookworm that Harry thought of as his only family left. It was deep, and wild, the sound of a forest in the dead of night. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up as he identified the voice of the wolf. "Harry, we need-need to get you cle-eaned off, ah-"

"Easy, Moony." He whispered, knowing the wolf's sensitive ears would pick up the murmur, even over the cries of outrage and horror that were beginning to surface from the assembled members of the Order. Remus nodded and smiled tightly, moving over to the kitchen door. Harry followed gratefully – or rather, he tried to. He had got no further than a couple of steps towards the door, when Molly Weasley stood, her face almost purple with rage. "Remus Lupin! What in the name of Merlin do you think you are doing! You heard Dumbledore, you heard what he said! I know that this boy is your best friend's son, but he, he… He's a MURDERER!" Harry froze, his eyes widening in shock. _Well well. Molly Weasley. I guess I was wrong about you. So very wrong. _

The room exploded in uproar at her declaration, clamoring for revenge, baying for his blood. Harry flinched, and ducked, as a white-hot curse grazed past him, shattering the ornate kitchen mirror. Remus was in front of him instantly, crouched in a standard defensive position, a deafening roar torn from his lips. It died to a growl, and the room fell silent, stunned at the sight of the usually composed teacher, epitome of all things meek and mild. His lips were drawn up, teeth bared, a smudge of blood from Harry's shoulder across one cheek, his eyes wide and unblinking. Harry frowned, his stomach clenching uncomfortably as the few braver (or stupider) people in the crowd began to murmur, accusations sending prickles of rage across his skin. "Werewolf…"

"Dark Creature…"

"The Dark stick to their own…"

"It was true…"

"They're monsters, the both of them…"

"Murderous, beasts, monsters…"

_So… He's the only one. He would turn against everything he's ever fought for, for me? And they would turn on him, just because of what he is… They're just as bad as Voldemort. Just as narrow-minded __and prejudiced as any Death Eaters. They're just more… Civilized about it… _Harry chuckled softly, confident in Remus' guardianship, and twirled his wand lazily in his hand, stuffing the other deep into the pocket of his over-sized jeans. "I would suggest that nobody moved… But I think you've all grasped that concept rather well…" His head snapped up, his eyes cold and unforgiving. "Now. I think it's time we reviewed the basics. Like manners, for example. It's really rather rude, you know. You come into my home, eat my food, sit at my table, drink my wine and curse at my servants. And then you dare to badmouth me when my back is turned? That's really quite disgraceful." He smirked slightly, a sudden feeling of malicious joy twisting inside of him at the sight of a shamefaced Mrs. Weasley unable to hold his gaze. "I don't need to prove myself to you. I don't need to defend myself against these lies. If I don't have even your trust… Then why should you have anything – ANYTHING from me?!"

A slight tremor in the air alerted him to his Headmaster's presence, and he continued to speak, his indignant rage evident on his face. "You expect me to fight for you, to sacrifice myself for you – to DIE FOR YOU!! And YOU CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE IN ME! YOU CAN'T EVEN LOOK ME IN THE EYE! Well, that's it. You've had your chance, you've had it. You have had all you are EVER going to get from me! Now leave me alone, just leave me the FUCK ALONE!" He wheeled round to face the Headmaster, eyes blazing. "That includes you, you MEDDLESOME OLD FOOL. I KNOW WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT ME, I KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF ME. WELL HERE'S WHAT I THINK OF YOU! YOU CAN TAKE YOUR PROPHECY, YOU CAN TAKE YOUR ORDER, YOU CAN TAKE YOUR FUCKING LEMON DROPS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR-"

"Potter! That's enough!" The sharp voice of Professor Snape snapped him out of his rapid spiral into hysteria, and he swallowed, falling silent.

_Ah… I forgot about him… So maybe Remus isn't the only one… Maybe there is hope left for us after all. _

Harry nodded, rubbing the back of his head wearily. "I… Sorry. Sorry, I just… Please go. Please, everyone, go…" Dumbledore frowned and made as though to argue. Harry sighed, and snapped his fingers. The crack of House-Elf apparation was almost instantaneous, and there was Kreacher, all bows and toothless smiles, eager to please. "Look. S…Si…Sirius… He left me the house. The house, and the money. All of it… And like I said, I'm done with you. So, there will be no more donations. No more headquarters, none of it. I'll give you five minutes to gather your belongings and get out." His gaze once more dropping to the floor, Harry turned on his heel and walked to the door, pausing only once, to look back at Mundungus Fletcher, who let out a very unmanly squeak of fear. "Oh, and 'Dung? If you even so much as think of trying to steal any more of my possessions… Well, lets just say there'll be one more head up by the staircase – and it surely won't be Kreacher's, no matter how much he begs. Mkay?"

Two hours later, and Harry was immersed up to his chin in hot, soapy water, his head resting on the cool marble of the enormous bathtub. He let out a sigh, and rubbed his tired eyes, playing out the days events in his head, trying to grasp how his life could have turned so far upside down. _Really, could I have been any stupider?! They were the only people I had… And now they hate me too! What… What is WRONG with me? Maybe I'm just tired, maybe I'm just… Oh… I don't know. It's just so unfair! Why don't they trust me?! I was going to offer up my life, my LIFE, to save them and their families. Ungrateful bastards. Can't even believe in the saviour they chose. So faithless, so faithless! _

_Well. _

_I'll show them, I'll show them all! _

_If a Fallen Saviour is what they want… _

_A Fallen Saviour is what they're going to get…_

**Authors Note: **Firstly, I am so so so so so so sorry it took me so long to update this! There's not really an excuse, but I'll try to update more regularly from now on.

Okay, so considering all the constructive criticism I've received, last chapter was just not quite good enough… Which I agree with. I think I wrote this chapter more naturally – I knew where it was going, and I really do hope its better!

Anyway, **please, please, please review**, and tell me if you liked it!!

Thanks again to all of my reviewers - it really makes this writing thing worthwhile…

Next Chapter: Dead Man's Robes (This one should be good – From the point of view of one Mr. Draco Malfoy. What's his reaction to Harry's dramatic return?)


	7. Dead Man's Robes

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Dead Man's Robes**

_Hurry. _

The single world broke through the slightly panicked buzz of thought in Harry's already crowded mind, sending all notions of dress robes, werewolves, and cranky houselves flying from his head. _Calm the fuck down, Harry. You're going to miss the train if you aren't careful. _The teenage boy shook his head tiredly, as he hurried across the bridge towards platforms nine and ten, slipping through the crowds of muggles that were all crammed into Kings Cross station, as though he were scarcely there at all. He ducked past the commuters in their shiny shoes with their leather briefcases and copies of The Financial Times; past holiday makes with sun-burnt noses and enormously oversized suitcases; past the fat old train drivers in their blue caps and luminous jackets, his footsteps never faltering as he wove his way towards the barrier.

_The barrier between worlds…_ _It sounds so…so… _

_(wonderfullybeautifullymagically)_

_Childish._

Harry grimaced slightly to himself, before pulling the hat further down over his eyes, tightening his grip on the polished wooden cane, and sweeping grandly through the wall. The notice-me-not charm he had had Kreacher cast earlier seemed to be working, as none of the tearful parents spared him as much as a glance – _And good thing too. I wouldn't want to have to let him iron his hands… Again._

He chuckled wryly under his breath, and hopped on to the scarlet and gold steam-engine, just as it began to move away from the platform. _Nothing like cutting it fine… Would take all the excitement out of life if I was bloody EARLY, wouldn't it? _He thought mischievously to himself, and sauntered off down the corridor, sending a group of First-Years scattering in his wake.

He settled into an empty compartment, his laughter growing in volume as he contemplated just how well it was all going. _I'm on the train, the spells are in place, the letters are sent – and the robes look damn fine. Everything is going just perfectly. Yeah. Perfectly. It's all gonna be fine, kiddo. Just fine. _

Tree.

Sheep.

Sky.

Cloud.

Tree.

Draco close his eyes in frustration, and tipped his head forwards, resting his slightly sweaty forehead on blessedly cool glass. The movement of the Hogwarts Express made his head thump against the window slightly, and his teeth rattled in his head – but the dull ache was doing a wonderful job at distracting him from dwelling too deeply on his summer. Instead of images of a leering snake-faced man, with eyes as red as death, Draco's head was filled with nothing but the steady thud of skull on glass, and instead of hearing his father's faux-pride intermingled with Blaise's concerned voice, his hazy mind was flooded with the monotonous clacking of steel on steel. For the time being, anyway.

Eventually, though, even though each inevitable impact sent blinding white pain blossoming through his skull, it just wasn't enough to keep the memories at bay. Draco flopped back bonelessly onto the faded red seat, eyeing Blaise warily. The Italian boy was smarter than he looked though, for he fell silent and went back to gazing out of the window – the only sign of his despair being the occasional shake of his head. Draco simply rolled his eyes, and turned to the only other occupant of the carriage – Pansy Parkinson. If anyone could distract him with inane ramblings about cocktail parties, the latest diets, and the Weird Sisters' last album, it would be her. His hopes were dashed when she simply stared back at him, biting her lip, her dark eyes swimming with worry.

Sighing exasperatedly, Draco decided that he'd had enough, and stood, tugging on his cloak, even though the September sunshine was filtering in merrily through the dusty window. Draco leaned forwards, and stood there for a moment, one hand splayed out over the glass, lining his fingertips up with the ghostly prints of some previous occupant of the carriage. He stared into his reflected eyes, and wondered idly if the person who'd left the prints had been as lonely or as miserable or as- _stop it. You're only going to depress yourself. Pull yourself together. You are the heir to the House of Malfoy. Try to act like it. _He inwardly shook himself, his eyes shuttering, and becoming as empty as a dead man's. He pulled back form the window, not meeting the terrified stares of his most loyal housemates, and left the compartment, his cape billowing out behind him.

Once in the corridor, he wandered aimlessly along, hexing a First-Year here, a prefect there, and generally trying to act like himself. _Myself. What a joke! if I was myself… If this was myself… _He sighed bitterly, elbowing a ginger kid out his way – not even bothering to check if it was a Weasley first – and grimaced. _Shut up, Draco. Just… Find something else to think about. Come ON! It can't be that damn hard, find SOMETHING THE FUCK ELSE TO THINK- _

It must have been destiny. Or fate, or something like that anyway, Draco later decided. How else could he have walked straight into his two least favorite people in the world – just when his inability to think about anything other than his summer meant he was on the brink of collapse . _Thank Merlin. No breakdowns for me today. Thank fucking Merlin. _Draco grinned, two parts wolfish and predatory, one part sheer relief, his eyes glittering with calculated malice. "Well well, look who we have here." He drawled, his voice perfectly pitched, every syllable perfectly enunciated. "The Mudblood and the Weasel." Predictably, the red-head snarled, and made as though to hit him, but (equally predictably,) Granger's hand on his wrist soon put an end to that ill-thought out plan. "Tell me though," Draco continued, suddenly aware that this fight wasn't…. Wasn't normal, wasn't _right_, because-

"Where's your Knight-In-Shining-Armour? The Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Bloody-Die?" To Draco's total and utter amazement, the answer was not an ill-chosen swear, a furious hex, or even a fist to the face. Instead, Granger burst into tears.

For a second, time seemed to freeze, leaving Draco standing there, frantically replaying the last three seconds in his totally bemused mind. _What… What the fuck?! Why… Why is Granger crying?! I only asked where Potter was, what's so bad about that? Where could he possibly be that would make her react like THAT? What could have- Oh. Oh fuck. This is Potter, isn't it, you idiot. Harry-Bloody-Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Get-Into-Trouble. He… He could be ANYWHERE. _

Suddenly the world snapped back, but the noises seemed too loud, and the previously unfocused surroundings were so bright that for a moment, Draco was dazzled, and unable to move. Granger and Weasley shoved past him, and disappeared into a compartment to their left, leaving Draco alone, his eyes wide, and his breathing all out of sync. He slowly lifted his hand, and placed his palm flat on his chest, in a futile attempt to slow his racing heart. _Get it together, Draco… It can't be that bad! I mean, good. I mean – if something had happened, you would know. Because He would know. And as far as He is concerned, Potter is safely on his way to Hogwarts. On the train. On the fucking train. So he MUST be here. But… It wouldn't hurt to check…_

Draco burst into the compartment without so much as the customary sneer at it's shocked occupants. Instead, he spent a good thirty seconds scouring the place with his eyes, determined that Potter MUST be here somewhere, because Potter was ALWAYS around somewhere, lurking round corridors, ready to blow up a potion, or, or, to trash Draco at Quidditch - or save the world. But apart from a furious Weasley, and a still weeping Granger, the compartment was completely and utterly empty. _No. Merlin no, he's- _

"Gone. Potter's gone."

His voice sounded thin, and uneven, like music played to fast, throwing the pitch all out. Granger was staring at him as though he'd grown an extra head, and Weasley had for once _miraculously_ fallen silent. Draco stood there, hands hanging limply by his sides, staring at the empty seat in the corner where he imagined Potter would sit. He didn't move, didn't speak, unable to even begin to comprehend what it meant that his nemesis was _gone_. Eventually, someone cleared their throat, and he looked round, meeting Granger's curious gaze. "M…Malfoy?" He blinked, and nodded, still staring. "W…What do you want? Harry isn't _here_, there's no reason to pick a fight!"

Draco shook his head slowly, and smiled crookedly. "No… I suppose you're right Granger. I guess I'll just… Go…" He turned, and headed towards the door, but a large, freckled hand on his shoulder stopped him leaving. He whirled round, eyes narrowed in preparation for the punch he was sure would follow, but instead – Weasley was staring at him with something akin to… sympathy? No. Empathy, perhaps. More likely it was just total bewilderment, disguised by an attempt at bravery. "Why do you want to know where Harry is? What's it to you? Why d'you care so much?"

The question was brusque, and mumbled in an almost uncomfortable tone, as though it was physically painful for him to speak to Draco in anything other than a yell. Draco blinked, and then shrugged, his Pureblood-Mask plastered firmly across his face. "I don't." He snapped, and glared at Weasley's hand that was _still touching_ him, until the owner of said hand pulled it away like he had been burnt. "Fine." The redhead grunted. "Have it your way. Now why don't you piss off back to your little gang of Death-Eaters-In-Training, and leave us the hell alone!"

Death-Eaters-In-Training.

Death Eaters.

_Death Eaters. Death Eaters. In Training. Is that all I am? A Death-Eater in training? So they've already decided what side I'm to fight on, then. _Steadfastly ignoring the small voice in his head that was screaming that denial was useless, Draco turned, and stormed out of the compartment, slamming the door shut behind him, cutting off Granger's sobs and Weasley's crude profanities from the world. Slowly, Draco headed back to his own compartment, resigning himself to another long, uncomfortable silence, while Blaise and Pansy tried to disguise the fact that all three of them were, to put it simply, terrified, and he himself wallowed in his self-pity, replaying his own personal nightmares over and over and over and over-

Because who was left to save them if Potter was gone?

By the time they arrived at the castle, Draco was just about ready to jump off the Astronomy Tower. His hair and robes were impeccable – as always, but he knew the expression was off. It couldn't be helped, though. _Sometimes… Sometimes it's just too damn hard to keep faking it. _He wandered across the Great Hall, his inconspicuous entry itself attracting the attention of the more obsessive of his stalkers. After all, Draco Malfoy not making an entrance? Unheard of.

Eventually Draco was sat in his usual seat, surrounded by his fellow snakes, Dumbledore was prattling away about nothing, and everything was back to normal. Or as normal as it could be, considering the conspicuous absence of everybody's favorite green-eyed, dark-haired hero. The whispers grew louder throughout the Sorting, and grew to what could only be classed as a dull roar as Flitwick carried the battered old Hat away. However, he had got no further than stepping off the dais when the Hall fell silent.

The large oak doors had swung open, sending cool night air swirling through the room, extinguishing the enchanted candles. Draco instantly reached for his wand, noting with pride that his entire table did the same. _Slytherins. We're all the same. All instinct and mistrust. It means we're ready for anything though. A Slytherin is never caught off guard after all._ He watched the shadowed doorway intently, as Dumbledore stood, almost radiating power.

"Who's there?" The silence was almost deafening as students and teachers alike strained their ears for an answer. "Identify yourself! Who are you?!" The only answer was a low, spine-tingling chuckle, as something out there moved, causing one or two of the more cowardly Hufflepuffs to cry out in fear. Draco sat patiently, peering through the moonlit shadows, trying to make out a figure, or a silhouette or something – his hand perfectly steady, resting around the handle of his wand. Dumbledore, it seemed, had no such patience. "SHOW YOURSELF! I, ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, DEMAND THAT YOU SHOW YOURSELF!"

"Oh do you now?" The voice was soft, and sly, and it sent goosebumps trickling down Draco's spine. "Well. If the Great Albus Dumbledore _demands_ it, then I suppose I'll have to." The sarcasm was biting, and Draco could almost sense the indignation radiating off the Gryffindor table. He smirked softly, and though his eyes never left the shadowy figure making its way towards the staff table, he could picture perfectly the scandalized face of one Ronald Weasley – scarlet with indignation. He chuckled, and watched with interest as the figure reached the dais, and then stopped.

No one in the Hall could possibly have imagined what would happen next. Dumbledore went completely white, and took a step back, allowing the professors full view of the mystery intruder. McGonagall let out a small cry of dismay, and Hagrid the groundskeeper swore loudly. Flitwick dropped the Hat, and Snape… Snape stood, and restored the candlelight with a dignified wave of his hand, his eyes glittering. Draco knew his godfather well enough to know what that meant.

It meant that for Snape, Christmas had come early.

And for some other poor bastard, all hell was about to break loose.

Draco leaned forwards, holding his breath. Who was it? Who the fuck was it? He was tall, and wearing exquisite wizarding dress robes – the formal kind. The rare, expensive formal kind. The pureblood kind. And was that…? Surely not. Was that a Head of House cane Draco could see, clutched in a gloved hand? Was that – "Lord Black?!"

Draco turned to Blaise Zabini, frowning. His friend's shocked outburst rang out clearly through the silent hall, causing more than a few people to glance interestedly in their direction. _He's right though. That is the cane that Lord Orion used to carry. I remember clearly because Mother used to describe it to me – complaining about that no-good blood-traitor who didn't deserve to have inherited it, the convict, Sirius Black… But it can't be him! Isn't he dead? I heard he was dead!_ Before Draco had time to think too deeply on the situation, the whole mystery was unraveled for him, as Lord Black turned around, his arms open in a mocking mimic of Dumbledore's earlier welcome, his eerie laughter once again filling the Great Hall, chilling its occupant to the bone.

"Indeed! I am Lord Harry Potter-Black, Master of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black!"

Draco could do nothing but stare. He could hear people screaming, others applauding, someone was crying - probably Granger - and Dumbledore was just standing there, dumbfounded. _You can hardly blame them though. How is anyone supposed to react to a statement like THAT? It's POTTER for godsakes!_

And indeed it was. Draco chuckled, causing Blaise to stare at him in concern, but Draco ignored him, and chose instead to stand. "HEY POTTER!"

The Hall fell silent again, and Potter turned to face this latest adversary. "I believe I just told you, my name is-"

Draco wouldn't let him finish. Not when there was so much to be said! "Yeah, I know, Potter-Black, or some such rot. You may have the dead man's robes, Potter, and his cane – and even his voice. But you still look like Harry-Bloody-Potter to me! Who else would waltz in here, all arrogance and confidence, thinking that they could take on a whole school full of wizards?! That's just foolish, Potter. Just damn foolish."

To Draco's surprise, though Potter flushed slightly, two scarlet patches of rage appearing on his otherwise deathly pale cheeks, he stayed calm, and merely sneered. His next words too were a surprise. "I didn't come here to fight, Malfoy. I am not a total imbecile!" Draco raised an eyebrow, causing the scarlet patches of anger to darken, and Potter's eyes to flash with suppressed rage. "Oh yes?" drawled Draco. "Well then, prove it. You've come all this way – even dressed up nice. What is it that you want?"

Potter grinned. "Ah… What do I want? That's a loaded question Malfoy. But I'll get straight to the point. And funnily enough, I'm glad it was you who asked." Draco's confusion must have filtered though onto his face, because Potter's grin grew (if possible,) even wider. "Well, Malfoy, it's you who's going to have to give an answer, you see."

"To what question?" Draco was amazed at how steady his voice sounded. _This is all just… Surreal. What the fuck is Potter doing?! What am I doing?! In the middle of the Sorting Feast, no less! if he asks me what I think he's about to, then we're all screwed. _

"Hmm. Well, to put it simply, Draco Malfoy, I came here to ask for a second chance. No doubt you've read it in the papers-" Here, Draco shook his head. _Having the press print off page after page about what scum your family is does tend to put you off the daily papers y'know. I just throw them on the fire! _"No?" Potter didn't even sound surprised. _Fine. Don't act surprised then. I bet he does the same thing, and burns every paper that dares to put his name in print… Positively Slytherin, that boy is. I bet he sees right through me…_ "Well. No matter. Suffice it to say, I am no longer welcome in my own House. Although there are a few acquaintances I am loath to be parted from – it is no great tragedy. After all, I was never rightly Sorted from the start. What I am asking, Draco Malfoy, is for your acceptance. After all, it does seem you are the, ah… President Elect of Slytherin House, no? So what dyou say? Room for one more in that Snake Pit of yours, Malfoy?"

Dumbledore made as though to intervene, but Draco beat him to it. "Well that depends, Potter."

"On?"

"On whether you think you're up to it." Potter laughed, and Draco couldn't help but smirk. "We're not simply a bunch of cowardly, scheming Death-Eaters-In-Training, you know." Somewhere, Draco was sure he heard Ron Weasley choke on air. He grinned, giddy with anticipation. _Come on Potter… Rise to it! Take the bait, throw yourself into a rage, show us your Gryffindor heart! Or prove us wrong, prove me wrong, one last time… _Potter simply smiled.

"Oh, I'm up for it. This intelligent fellow here thinks so too." He held up the battered old Sorting Hat, still chucking to himself. "Five years ago, I put this Hat on my head. And I told it where to put me. I thought I could fight destiny, and make myself into someone else. It turns out that that was just a dream. A pleasant enough dream – but a dream nonetheless. So I'm here to wake up. I'm here to put an end to this fraud once and for all. I am here to go home." He swept the Hat onto his head, and Draco knew, he just knew what it would say, before it even opened its torn old mouth, because-

_because, to have hidden himself away, and fooled us all, for so many years with his Gryffindor façade… To have planned it so finely, to have played the game with such cunning and finesse… To have been a snake, masquerading as a lion… Perhaps…_

"**SLYTHERIN!"**

_Perhaps it turns out that Potter is the most Slytherin of us all._

**Authors Note: **

Next Chapter – Pit of Destiny (How does our haunted hero cope with life in the snake pit? Will he be accepted as one of their own? Or will his carefully crafted mask come crumbling down around him?)

And if you feel like it, please review.


	8. Pit of Destiny

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Pit of Destiny**

_Listen. _

_It's raining again._

_I can tell. _

_I can hear it, drumming on the castle roof, and spattering down lead-framed window panes, a sorrowful melody of liquid bullets. _

_I can see it, trickling steadily into the Black Lake, ripples spreading like Saturn's rings across the dark water, shattering the moon into interlacing fragments of pearly white._

_I can smell it, the rich tang of the earth, of the wild forests, of freedom, that emanates its fragrant scent from the soft green grass, damp and lusciously cool._

_I can feel it, damp and light on my skin, washing me clean as it falls from the heavens, beating on my heavy eyelids, dripping in twisting torrents out of my hair and over my parted lips._

_I can taste it, pure and clean and cold as death, my mouth filled with the flavor of the sky's tears._

_It's raining, Mummy. _

_Daddy._

_Its raining, Siri. _

_It's raining again. _

_Are you crying?_

_I am too._

Harry swiped the heavily embroidered cuff of his robes across his eyes, swiftly removing all evidence that the tears had ever existed. His arm fell back limply by his side, and he stared up at the canopy with eyes only a shade lighter than the drapes shutting him away from the world, letting out a sigh that seemed to come from deep in his very bones. _It could be worse, Potter. It could be so, so much worse. _He rolled over, curled up on his side, and tucked a hand under his cheek, the other clutched tightly around a glimmering midnight-blue glass bottle.

An empty midnight-blue glass bottle.

He let out another sigh, his eyes drooping slowly shut, the world blurring into black like the colors of a painting dribbling to the floor in streams of green, purple, blue and gold. Harry smiled softly, and let his body relax, the bottle slipping with a soft _clunk_ to the floor, spattering its last few glistening drops of Dreamless Sleep Potion over the polished shoes. An elegantly manicured hand reached down, clasping the cool indigo glass in curious slender fingers, bringing it up to face the inquisitive gaze of one Draco Malfoy.

"Well, Potter. I guess I really **was** wrong about you. I never had you pegged as a closet potion-junkie." The Slytherin sixth-year turned his grey eyes to the closed drapes, as though willing himself to develop x-ray vision, reaching up with his empty hand to let his fingertips brush against the forest-green velvet. _What is it about you, Potter? What are you hiding behind these masks of yours? And why, why in the name of Grindelwald do I care this much?!_

Draco frowned at the persistent thoughts that buzzed round his mind in a never-ending loop, his face scrunching up in indecipherable confusion, before the Ice-Prince façade was snapped back into place, his eyes going blank and cold. Draco lowered his hand, and turned on his heel, wrenching his own bed-curtains shut behind him. It was only just as he was muddling through the inky darkness of semi-consciousness that he realized, with a dim thrill of bewilderment, that the potions bottle was still clasped tightly in his hand.

-----

Monday morning dawned bright and early, soft mid-September sunshine bleeding slowly over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, spelling the harsh gray of stone a soft, rosy gold. The very air seemed to taste like the ghost of summer, warm and light with undercurrents of cinnamon and the crackle of roaring fires - a warning of the winter months that would soon have the castle in its grasp. But for now, the castle was just beginning to come alive, the house elves preparing for breakfast in a bustle of smoke and sizzling bacon, the portraits once more filling the corridor with the cheerful, expectant gossip of a new school term. Harry had woken early, watching his bed-curtains fade from deep-emerald to an almost grass green, as a tentative beam of sunlight snuk through the gap in his curtains. He blinked slowly, mind slowly drifting away, fading down into the depths of his consciousness…

"OI DRACO!"

Harry winced. _Who knew Zabini was such a noisy fucker? _Harry snorted to himself, remembering the scarce number of times he had actually seen the beautiful Italian boy. The number of times he had actually heard him _speak…_ Well, they were even less. Rolling his eyes, he flopped over, head burrowing deep into the safety of his pillow. He smirked slightly. _Poor Malfoy…_

Blaise Zabini was dead.

Or at least, he would be when Draco caught up with him. "COME BACK HERE!" He roared, hurtling across the dormitory, wand in hand. "OI, ZABINI, COME BACK HERE, YOU DIRTY LITTLE MOTHERFU-" The words were stolen away from him as he was knocked to the floor, Zabini landing on top of him. "Hey! Blaise, get **off** me you idiot! You're going to crack a rib!" Blaise chuckled darkly. "Yeah, it'd serve you right thought, Malfoy-Boy. Take back what you said about my mother!" Draco snorted.

"Not likely, Zabini. It's five in the fucking morning! What'd you expect?!" Blaise laughed, and stood up, offering his childhood friend a hand.

"Touché. A caffeine-deprived Malfoy is a truly vulgar individual." Draco grinned, and gave Blaise one last playful shove before heading off to the showers, Blaise moving on to torture the next poor victim.

By the time Draco got back to the dormitory, the whole of Slytherin house was a hive of activity. The younger snakes were running around, finishing essays left right and centre. The second years were crawling out of bed, _lazy sods,_ and the third years had already disappeared off to breakfast. Draco strolled past a small group of fourth years gossiping in the corner, who cowered away from his very presence. _Ahh, to be a Malfoy... _Grinning to himself, Draco winked at a gaggle of fifth year girls, who dissolved into giggles as he passed. He sloped back upstairs, nodding hello to a rather tense looking Theo as he pushed open the dormitory door and-

Gone was the hyperactive, cheerful, start-of-term atmosphere. Instead, there was a tense, blackish-red silence, the angry kind, where you can't even breathe for fear of something or someone exploding. Blaise Zabini was pinned up against the wall by the collar of his robes, his pretty Italian face pale and sweaty with fear, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. _Potter._ _This isn't the way to make allies, Potter… They're going to end up afraid of you, you prat… Then all the charming speeches and expensive robes in the world won't save you from being alone. _

Draco cleared his throat softly, noting the way Potter seemed to freeze, the wand at Zabini's throat no longer shaking. He moved a step or two closer, wand clasped in a sweating hand. It was suddenly, abundantly clear that what he had previously presumed to be just a tense atmosphere was actually the sheer power of Potter's raw, accidental magic. He winced. If Potter was this angry, if he was this strong… _Zabini's dead. _Steeling himself, he raised a hand and placed it on Potter's wand arm. "Easy there, Potter." His voice sounded hollow, uncertain. Potter's muscles were tensed under his grasp, and he didn't move. His head was bowed, and Draco could hear his breath coming in ragged pants, like a dog that's run too far. He swallowed, and tried again. "Potter. It's me, it's Dra- Malfoy. It's Malfoy." Potter inhaled sharply, a tremor visibly running through him. "Come on, Potter. You don't want to do this. Just let Zabini down, he's learnt his lesson." Draco almost jumped in fright as Potter actually snarled in anger, his head snapping up, electric green eyes boring into Draco's, his anger practically bleeding out of him.

"No."

Potter's voice was deeper, darker than Draco had ever heard it. "No. This is HIS fault! He should know better, shouldn't he, Malfoy? Even you, even YOU wouldn't dare speak about Him to me! NO ONE has the RIGHT to speak about MY GODFATHER! YOU DON'T EVEN DESERVE TO SPEAK HIS NAME! HOW DARE YOU, YOU PATHETIC LITTLE MAN-WHORE, HOW DARE YOU!" His wand jabbed even further into Zabini's throat, and Draco winced, as the raw magic swelled to an almost unbearable level. He could almost taste Potter's anger, mixed in with the sharp tangy smell of urine. Zabini had actually wet himself. And- Were those tears?! "Potter! Potter, he didn't mean it! Put him the fuck DOWN!" Perhaps it was the way he shouted, or perhaps it was his hand tightening on Potter's arm. Either way, Zabini was suddenly left to crumple to the floor in a heap of self pity and soiled designer robes. Leaving Potter to turn on him. _Oh, wonderful._ He opened his mouth – to rebuke Potter? To defend himself? But the words escaped him, as he looked at Potter's face. He was pale, and there were dark circles around his still-flashing eyes. Something niggled at the back of Draco's mind – something was not quite right here… But the thought was almost immediately overwritten by the way Potter swayed slightly on his feet, the way he looked so, so _lost_ – just like that time before the summer. _Ah. So you're still not back then, Potter. I thought… I really thought you were back._

_I thought we had our savior back._

Harry blinked, his mind reeling. _What… What just happened?! I… Zabini… I was angry… I don't- I don't remember what- _He stiffened, and winced, burying his aching head in trembling hands. _I don't know what's happening, I don't understand what's happening, Malfoy, Malfoy, what's happening to me?!_ It was all he could do to stay standing. He could feel the tears building, the sadness and remorse welling up behind tightly closed eyelids. Panic was rising inside him, a massive blood red tidal wave of confusion and hopelessness. He let out a shaky gasp, thoughts swirling in a dizzying vortex of flashing lights, _idon'tknow, idon'tknow, helpmehelpmehelpme, ican'tican'tbreathe, breathe, breathe… _"For Merlin's sake, breathe Potter!"

_Malfoy._

Harry's eyes snapped open and he took a breath, sweet oxygen flooding his lungs, his heart rate calming, and his vision clearing. Malfoy was staring at him, grey eyes filled with equal parts anger and fear. Harry licked his lips nervously and opened his mouth to explain, but Malfoy beat him to it. "Just forget it, Potter. Forget it ever happened, okay?" He bent and grasped Zabini's arm, hauling him out of the dorm, leaving Harry alone again.

Once free of the dorm room the four sixth-year boys shared, Malfoy turned his wrathful gaze on Zabini. "You IDIOT, Blaise! Did you not SEE him last night?! He's HARRY BLOODY POTTER, with all the power of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black! And you dared to insult him?! Are you that brave Zabini, or JUST THAT FUCKING STUPID?!" Blaise had hauled himself to his feet, his Slytherin face back in position, all traces of fear buried under self-righteous assurance. "Really, Draco, I have no idea what you ate babbling on about!" Blaise laughed airily, and smoothed out his robes. "Stop trying to look all menacing, it really doesn't do you any favors. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and get ready for lessons. Ciao."

Draco stared after his friend, astonishment written all over his face. A quiet voice behind him made him jump in surprise. "It's just an Obliviate." He whirled around, eyes narrowing at the sight of Potter, lounging in the doorway. "It won't do him any harm. Honest." The ex-Gryffindors confidence was back then, Draco noted sourly, scowling at his nemesis.

"Yeah, well how do I know I can trust you?! You, who can change his House, and his temper, in the blink of an eye! It's not natural, Potter!" Harry just blinked at him, smiling slightly. After a brief pause, he simply shrugged elegantly and unfolded his arms. "Ah, Malfoy, don't make me hex you too…" Draco couldn't help but gape as Potter sauntered forwards, all grace and class. A slightly calloused hand brushed against his chin, gently closing his mouth with a barely audible click. "Careful there, Malfoy…" Whispered Potter, as he glided past. "Didn't you ever read poem about the old woman who swallowed a fly?"

-----

"Look! It's Harry Potter! The _Slytherin_…"

"D'you think he's a Death Eater now?"

Harry tried to ignore them.

"Look! It's Potter!"

"Thinks he's too good for us now…"

He really did.

"It's Harry…"

"I always knew he was no good, ever since second year…"

But…

"Potter!"

"Oi, Potter! I'm talking to you, you lying snake!"

This was really beginning…

"Traitor!"

To get on his nerves.

"Shh, he's a dark wizard!"

"Yeah, he could kill you with a single glance!"

_I swear, one more comment…_

"I heard he's a Parselmouth…"

"Yeah, he's probably Voldemort's apprentice now…"

_Just one more fucking word and I'll-_

"Fucking traitor!"

"**SILENCE!**"

For a moment, Harry was sure the word had escaped his lips subconsciously. Then, through the sudden, echoing silence, he could hear footsteps. He whirled round, and found himself face-to-face with none other than Draco Malfoy. A furious Draco Malfoy.

"How DARE you! How fucking DARE you speak of him this way! He is the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and you WILL treat him with all due respect! Anyone, ANYONE who so much as dares to DREAM otherwise will have me, and THE WHOLE OF SLYTHERIN HOUSE to answer to! IS THAT CLEAR?!"

The silence was deafening. Harry could feel himself flushing, and clenched his fists. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Malfoy!" He hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. Malfoy just sneered. "Yeah, Potter, I could really see that. But you. Are. A. Slytherin now. So act like it!" Harry blinked, a sudden unexpected spasm of uncertainty and hurt leaving him reeling. Perhaps Malfoy sensed some of his confusion, perhaps he saw him stagger slightly. Whatever the reason, he sighed, his cold eyes softening. "Look, Potter. You're new to this. Hell, I don't think any of us have quite got our heads round it all yet. But, you're one of us now. A Slytherin. An ally. A friend. Okay?" Harry's eyes suddenly twinkled with something akin to mirth, and he held out his hand. "Harry Potter-Black. Call me Harry." Draco looked at Harry's hand for the longest time, his mind flicking back to that fateful day on the Hogwarts Express. Eventually he looked up at Harry, and smirked playfully. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

-----

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Somehow word of Harry and Draco's new friendship had spread to Dumbledore, and Draco had found himself being hauled in for questioning. However, after twenty minutes and seven refused lemon drops, Dumbledore had appeared satisfied. Draco had lied and bluffed his way through the entire conversation – a fact he was pretty sure Dumbledore knew. However, his Occulumency shields held fast, and his Slytherin mask was unbreakable. A lifetime of being a Malfoy was more than enough practice for a showdown with Albus Dumbledore.

However, it was late, and he was tired, and now he'd missed dinner too. Scowling, he headed towards the kitchens, the look on his face sending first and seventh years alike scattering out of his path. He finally reached the painting of the fruit bowl, and poked at the large green pear irritably, waiting for the door to swing open. To his surprise, the door flew open, and someone fell out, sending Draco sprawling to the floor, pinned underneath this mystery boy. "Get OFF me!" He snarled, shoving the boy off him, and scrambling to his feet. "Who the fuck d'you think you are, you clumsy- Potter?!" Draco stared aghast as Harry Potter, the supposed savior of the world, staggered to his feet, laughing his head off. "Pott-Harry, are you- Are you _drunk_?!" The Malfoy heir exclaimed incredulously. Harry stared back, giggling, his green eyes softened and unfocused. "Yep!" the hero answered proudly. "Completely shitfaced!" Draco couldn't help but laugh at the pride glowing on Harry's carefree face. He reached out and wound on arm round Harry's waist, slinging the smaller boys arm over his shoulders. "C'mon then Potter, let's get you back to the dorm. I think you need to get to bed… A good night's sleep is what you need…" The words had no sooner left his mouth, when Harry wrenched himself away, and Draco found himself pinned up against the wall, Harry's wand at his throat. His mind flashed back to Zabini, struggling to breathe, and he fumbled in his robes, searching desperately for his wand. "You can't!" Harry's voice was quiet, laced with Firewhisky and despair. "You can't, please, please don't…" Draco blinked, his confusion evident.

"Potter, I have NO IDEA what you're talking about! Let me down!" Harry just shook his head, his green eyes glistening with tears, fear washing over him in a cold torrent of blackness.

"Please, Malfoy! Please, Draco, please don't tell him! Oh, please, don't tell Sirius! You mustn't… Mustn't tell… Sirius…"

And finally, finally the world gave in, fading to flickering black, a pair of worried silver eyes branded into his mind, his own name ringing in his ears.

**Authors Note: **

Next Chapter – Barriers of the Mind(Obviously, something is still not right with out beloved hero's mind. How will he cope in the coming weeks? And will Draco ever find out about Harry's horrific summer?)

Thanks to Amber and Ellesra for your wonderful constant reviews – it's great to know that people are following the story with as much anticipation as I am.

Everyone else, please review! It makes me smile :)


	9. Barriers of the Mind

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Barriers of the Mind**

Harry's head was on fire.

"_For the last time, I don't know! I already told you, I just __**found**__ him, wandering the corridors, completely battered!"_

At least, he figured it **must** be on fire, to be in this much agony.

"_Do you listen to anything I say?! For Merlin's sake, Snape, I already-"_

Snape? Through the throbbing at his temples, Harry was dimly aware of two voices, arguing.

"_Oh, for fucks-"_

Ah. So that must be Draco. No one else – apart from perhaps Harry himself – would dare speak to the Potions Master like that…

"_Right, fine. __**Professor Snape**__, I already told you! He started crying, and begging me not to tell Black!"_

What?

"_Yes, Sirius Black! His godfather?!"_

What about Sirius?

"_I KNOW HE'S DEA-"_

No! Don't say it! Don't say itdon'tsayit, please, "Don't!"

"_Harry?"_

Harry say bolt upright, hands clamped over his ears, jaw clenched in a desperate attempt to dim the pain that was shooting through his head in bolts of fluorescent lightening. He cracked open an eye, wincing as the bright sunlight sent an arrow of sharp discomfort lancing through his aching skull. "Said pl's don't." His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton wool, leaving his words slurred and dull. _What the fuck happened to me?! Was I cursed?! Did someone ambush me – the Gryffindors?! _"Gr'ffndors?" He mumbled, slumping back against his pillow in defeat. To his surprise, the next sound to meet his ringing ears was harsh, derisive laughter. "Wrong, Potter. As much as it pains me to say this, the pain you are undoubtedly currently suffering it no one's fault but your own, which leaves me completely unable to deduct any points-" There was the sound of a slight scuffle, a hissed swearword and the tinkling sound of a broken potions vial.

"Ignore Professor Snape, Harry. You know he thrives on human misery, particularly that of a Gryffi- I mean, particularly yours. But he's right. It is your fault." To Harry's ears, Draco's voice sounded particularly smug, as though he were holding back laughter. He attempted a scowl, but felt his face sag into a tired sort of grimace. _If it wasn't Gryffindors, who the fuck was it?! What did I __**do**__? _As though reading his thoughts, Draco patted him on the shoulder, and proceeded to inform him, in the most irritating, patronizing voice possible, that he had chosen to sneak out to the kitchens and get completely off his face on Firewhisky. In his surprise, Harry forgot his monstrous headache, and looked up sharply. "What the f- Oh, bloody hell…" His head made its protests known, and he fell backwards, flinging an arm over his face with a whimper.

Instantly, Snape's acrid voice sliced through the air, rebuking him. "Language, Mr. Potter! You may be a Gryffindor at heart, but while you reside in these dungeons, I expect you have at least a little self-control!" Cracking open one bloodshot eye, Harry scowled up at the Potions Master. Contrary to his expectations, the usually dour man wasn't glaring back. Instead, he looked pale, and there was a glimmer of something almost sorrowful in his eyes. His pre-prepared disrespectful comeback died on his lips, and he frowned, arms flopping back down to his sides.

"I don't… I don't know what…" His voice sounded weak and unsure, even to his own ears. "I…" The words seemed to be getting lost, drowning somewhere between his brain and voice. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know why…" He trailed off and closed his eyes, rolling over onto his side, and pulling the itchy hospital blanket up around him – a warm cocoon of cheap wool and security. He smiled slightly, eyelids growing almost unbearably heavy as he heard Snape whispering and felt the soft rush of a spell washing over him, sending him drifting into a much-needed dreamless sleep.

------

Draco watched Harry fall asleep, the tension in his shoulders and back visibly easing, his breathing deepening. The Malfoy heir reached out a pale hand, but allowed it only to fall through empty air, fingertips grazing the bedspread. He cleared his throat, and raised his chin proudly. Beside him, he heard Professor Snape sigh. "Draco..." Draco merely frowned in response, his hand clenching into a defensive fist at his side. "I am not your father, Draco. Nor your mother. As I have said so often before, there is no need to stand on ceremony." Through the dry sarcasm, Draco could hear a hint of concern, and let out the breath he had been holding. His shoulders slumped, and he turned to his godfather, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, searching desperately for the right words – the ones that would award him answers, as opposed to the ones that would turn the Head of Slytherin into a better guardian of secrets than Gringotts itself. Eventually, they came.

"Indredy-Delyndo?! What kind of a spell IS that?"

As predicted, Snape's frowning mouth twisted into a wry smirk. "Indre de Lyndlos, Draco. It's Danish." Draco scowled.

"You're avoiding the question. What does it do?" Snape sighed and turned to face the bed, from which the steady, rhythmic sound of Harry's breathing could be heard.

"Indre de Lyndlos. It quite literally means Mind of Silence. And before you ask, I used it simply because I must." Draco quirked an eyebrow in confusion, and Snape sighed before continuing. "Yes, the Dreamless Sleep potion is all well and good if you suffer from the occasional stress-induced nightmare, but Mr. Potter's circumstances are a little… different. A Dreamless Sleep would send him to sleep, it's true. But his nightmares are undoubtedly not simple night-ghasts. They are more likely memories, Draco." Draco couldn't help but interrupt.

"Memories of _what_?!" _What could be so horrific for him to remember that it stops him from sleeping?!_

Snape laughed bitterly. "Draco, he's Harry Potter. Do you even need to ask?!" Draco fell silent, frowning as Snape withdrew a folded piece of muggle paper from the folds of his robes. "Look." Draco took the proffered paper, his eyes widening in confusion as he gazed down at a child's drawing. A hastily crayoned black haired man, and red haired woman, all fairly normal really. _But… Wait._ _Actually… There is something… Something is not right about this… Not right at all…_

"Yes." He was suddenly aware of his godfathers gaze on the back of his neck, but he stayed where he was, facing forwards, his face impassive, as Snape confirmed his thoughts. "He remembers. This drawing, this innocent child's drawing is a first hand account of what happened at Godric's Hollow, sixteen years ago. The fall of the Dark Lord, and the death of James Potter and Lily Evans – Harry Potter's parents. " Draco stared down at the waxy interpretation of the Avada Kedavra, and felt bile rise in his throat. _He remembers that?! He remembers his mother and father being MURDERED?! After all this time, he remembers?! Does he remember it being cast on him?! Does he remember being killed?! Does he remember DYING?! Ohmygod… Oh, god! That's… Hang on. Hang on. This happened sixteen years ago. Why… Why would it hit him NOW, after all these years? That can't be the reason for all this, it just can't! _He scowled up at his godfather, and felt a slight flicker of Slytherin glee at the resigned look on Snape's face. _He knew I'd never be fooled by that. Another test, Uncle Severus. You should know by now, I always pass._

"I know you there's something you aren't saying." To his own ears, Draco's voice was strong and steady, the commanding voice of a Malfoy. "I know that something's happened, something's different. Something's changed him. And you know what it is. Something, something _horrific_ has happened. And it's driving him insane. Tell me." There was a moment of silence, in which Draco could have sworn he could feel his heartbeat increasing, a bead of sweat gathering at his temple. Eventually Snape gave up, and conjured him a chair.

"Sit down, Draco." Draco didn't move. "Sit! What you will discover is destroying Potter's mind – Potter's! Do you really think you can hear it without your knees giving way? Do you?!" Draco sat. Snape flicked his wand, dragging a strand of pearly threads from his temple, and casting them into the air. He muttered a strange, Latin spell, and the threads wove together, a nightmare blossomed into life, and Draco saw what can only be described as hell.

_Snape is hurrying up the path of a house. An ordinary house, so ordinary! Then, he moves through the front door, and there's blood, there's blood, and Draco can even smell the __**smell, **__ohgodthesmell and the blood! There's a woman in the oven, her eyes staring, her skin in charred clumps, falling off her bones, she could've been anyone, could've been a wife, a mother, her legs are still amongst the Sunday Dinner, Snape's vomiting in the sink. He's afraid, why is he so afraid?! There's a trail of lifeblood, leading up the stairs, and there's child! A muggle child, hanging dead and there's a gristly message, daubed in blood! A message that means… Ohgod. It means that Harry… No… The muggle child's eyes are staring, staring, as Snape walks down the hall, and- _"OHMYGOD! MY GOD! STOP IT, STOP IT, SNAPE!OHGOD, PLEASE! I'M BEGGING YOU!"_ Someone is screaming far away, as the door to the bedroom slowly opens, and- _"OHGOD, OHGOD, NO! GET RID OF IT! SNAPE, SNAPE, STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP!OHMYGOD, STOP!"_ Draco is screaming too, he doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to see this, it's too much, too much, he's dizzy, his vision is blurring, it's too much, and the boy is still screaming, screaming, as though his heart is broken, _"NO, NO, OHGOD NO!"_ Draco can't bear it anymore, he can't bear it, can't breathe, can't breathe, can't think… Ohgod…_

The image of Vernon Dursley, his empty eye sockets leering, dribbled away in a trail of pearlescent scarlet, as Draco lost consciousness, and slumped softly to the floor.

----

"_Ren__nervate."_

Draco's eyes snapped open, and he stared at Snape in horror. "That's his memory?!" He whispered, voice raw from screaming. "That's what he's been dreaming about?!" Snape stared back, his usually impassive face twisted into a grimace of concern.

"Yes. Draco, are you alright? I apologize, I didn't think it would affect you so badly, I-"

"Oh, shut up!" Draco interrupted rudely, scrambling shakily to his feet. "I'm quite alright! But what happened to Harry?! I heard him screaming!" A quick glance around the ward, and he'd spotted Harry before Snape even had a chance to answer. "Harry!" He hurried over to the corner of the room, where Harry was slumped on the floor, head in his hands. Draco flopped down to the floor next to him, and placed a hand on his shaking shoulder. Harry's reaction was immediate, and violent. He wrenched himself away from Draco's grasp, head snapping up, eyes wide and green and terrified. Draco held up his hands, and scooted backwards. "Woah! Harry! It's only me! It's just me, Dra-"

"Go AWAY! Just LEAVE ME ALONE!" Harry scrambled to his feet, and bolted for the door. Draco scrabbled for his wand, but Snape was faster. The Hospital Wing doors bolted shut, just as Harry slammed into them. He landed haphazardly sprawled on his back, glasses and wand skittering away over the grey stone floor. Draco was at his side in an instant, as was the Potions Master. "Harry?" Snape's voice was unusually quiet as he performed several quick diagnostic spells and repaired Harry's glasses. "Potter? I know you can hear me." Harry's only reply was a slight shaking of his head, a couple of tears leaking from under tightly closed eyelids. "Potter! Will you just give it up!" Evidently, the Potions Master's 'nice side' came with a time limit, Draco thought wryly, watching in two parts concern, one part amusement as Snape hauled Harry into a sitting position, and jammed his glasses back on his face. "Potter! Just accept it! It's over! Just grow up, and accept the fact that I know! There's no such thing as a secret in Hogwarts, Potter! You should know that!" Harry tilted his head slightly, and looked up at his once-feared Professor.

"Know what, sir?" Snape stared down at Harry, eyebrows raised in exasperation.

"Know what?! About your birthday, you imbecile! I know what happened! I know about the Dursley's! I know who killed them!" Harry's next words were a surprise to everyone.

"Who? Who was it?" He spoke so quietly, and with such desperation, that if it had been Draco's choice, he never would have told. Snape had no such qualms, his deep baritone clearly audible in the silent room.

"It was you."

**Authors Note: **

Sorry that it's taking me so long to write… But I have exams right now, so it'll be quite slow for a while… C'est la vie, I'm afraid.

Next Chapter – Insanity is Bliss (So, now Harry knows the truth. Draco knows to. How will this affect their fledgling friendship?)

Thanks to Amber, Ellesra and BlueLawliet – I hope the story continues to live up to your expectations.

Everyone else, please review! It makes me smile :)


	10. Insanity is Bliss

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Insanity Is Bliss**

"Who? Who was it?" His own voice, so quiet, quavering with desperation and dread. And then, the words he didn't want to hear, the words he couldn't let himself hear-

"It was you."

The next few minutes were a complete blur of denial and panic and tears and fear. Harry knew he was crying – the taste of salty tears on his lips was testament to that. His breath was catching in his chest, and he could hear himself making noises like that of a dying animal, feral and afraid. His vision was blurred, his mind spinning as he refused to accept it, refused to even consider that it could be true – because it wasn't, it couldn't be, _it can't be! I wouldn't, I wouldn't do that! He's lying, he has to be lying, he HAS TO BE!_

_No._

_Nononononono…_

Then came the memories. The cold, smooth feel of the knife handle _– in_ _his hand_.

The hot spray of blood spattering over his face.

His aunt, _his aunt_ screaming, and screaming, and screaming.

Dudley, the sound of Dudley, cowering and pleading for his life.

Begging to be spared.

A glimpse of his own face in the hallway mirror, bloody and smiling.

Uncle Vernon, cursing, and shrieking, and apologizing, and _crying, _as Harry laughed, and brought down the knife again, and again, laughing and laughing and laughing.

_Laughing._

"I laughed." Harry's voice was no more than a whisper, as he numbly tried to make sense of the nightmarish memories pouring into his consciousness. He looked up into the aghast faces of Draco and Snape, and had to laugh, a strange, high-pitched chuckle. "I laughed as I killed him! Oh, _god_, I laughed!" The laughter was back, unrestrainedly spilling from his mouth, a demon's laughter. He could hear them protesting, Draco giving in and finally puking his guts out. He could feel his wand clutched tightly in his hand, his stubby fingernails cutting into his palm, sending spirals of fresh blood trickling down his wrist.

Then, the soft press of wood against his temple, and his treacherous lips refusing to speak the words he was desperately, desperately trying to say,

_Avadakedavraavadakedavraavadakedavra _"AVADA KEDA-"

Draco's fist collided with the side of his head, sending his wand flying, his glasses shattering into a lethal rainbow of broken glass and twisted metal. Harry looked up at the shaking silhouette of Draco Malfoy, and didn't need the power of sight to tell him that the Slytherin was angry. Very angry. His fury was rolling off him in tangible waves of unrestrained, raw magic. "Never," he hissed through clenched teeth, "Do that. To me. Again!"

Harry blinked, leapt to his feet, and fled.

-----

For Harry, the next few weeks passed in an unpleasant haze of schoolwork and nightmares. Every time he closed his eyes, the leering corpses of his family stared back at him. And it wasn't just the Dursleys, any more. Now, his mother and his father, and his dear Sirius all gazed at him with hatred and blame in their cold dead faces. Needless to say, he wasn't sleeping much. He'd long since abandoned the idea of Dreamless Sleep Potion, and since he would rather suffer than approach Snape for help, he was totally and completely stuck. He muddled along to as many classes as he could remember to go to, but honestly needn't have bothered, as he spent most of his time in semi-catatonic daydreams, as opposed to actually listening.

The teachers were taking this surprisingly well – as were the Sixth Year students. Normally, if someone wasn't paying attention in class, they were a sure-fire target for a prank or two – at the very least an inked-on moustache, or a well-aimed pinching hex. However, even when he accidentally fell asleep, Harry always woke up unscathed. When his mind cleared enough for him to actually think about the situation, he suspected that his newly-acquired status as a Slytherin probably had something to do with it. If not that, then maybe it was just Draco, watching his back. Of course, the Gryffindors weren't going to bother him either. They probably still thought of him as one of them.

However, as accommodating as the Sixth Years were, the rest of the school was not so discreet. Whenever Harry was puzzling his way through suddenly seemingly endless corridors of students, he could hear whispers, whispers of insanity, of curses, of death, of Voldemort, St. Mungos, poison… For some reason, the constant rumors didn't bother Harry as much as they used to. He'd just stopped caring. His friends, however, were another story.

It was a wet, windy afternoon in late October, and Harry was trudging back towards the dungeons after another pointless Potions class, when he found himself cornered on a staircase by Neville Longbottom. This in itself was surprising enough to rouse Harry slightly from his sleep-deprived stupor. "N…Neville?" He mumbled dully, squinting up at the face of the usually shy Gryffindor. Neville's face was scrunched up in consternation, his eyes bright with worry.

"H…Harry, I…I'm s…sorry for um… I… I just… I'm really worried about you!" The words seemed to fall out of Neville's mouth in a jumble of panic and terror. _Is he afraid of me?!_ Harry thought incredulously. _No… Neville… Neville isn't afraid of me! I'm just, just Harry! Why would he be afraid of me!_

"Nev, don't be scared. Remember what Dumbledore said, at the end of First Year? It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends. Right, Neville?" It was the right choice of words. Neville relaxed, his face sagging tiredly. _He looks about as bad as me,_ Harry thought wryly,_ and that's saying something!_ "What's up, Nev?" He asked gently. He may have been re-sorted, but that didn't mean he was going to turn away a friend in need. Neville chewed anxiously on his lip, and looked for a moment as though he were debating between running away or bursting into tears. Then, as though he couldn't hold back any longer, the words poured out.

"Harry, I'm so worried! Everyone's saying you're going insane! That the pressure of everything has got to you, and your depressed, and some people say it's a potion, but Dumbledore doesn't think so, and I've heard the teachers talking, talking about St. Mungos, Harry, and you can't go there! You can't end up there, not you! You can't end up like them, you can't!" He fell silent, his face white, as though he had revealed too much. Harry stared at Neville, who was breathing heavily, as though he'd run a marathon. Eventually, he just nodded, and patted Neville on the shoulder.

"It's okay, Neville. I'm not insane. I'm not going to St. Mungos. I promise." Neville visibly relaxed, and he nodded, smiling weakly.

"That's good, Harry, that's really good. Because I know you're a Slytherin, but you're still my friend! You'll always be my friend, right? No matter what?" Harry smiled at the tremor in the other boys voice.

"'Course, Neville. No matter what." Neville's smile grew, relief shining in his eyes.

"Thanks Harry." He made as though to turn away, but before Harry could escape back to the safety of the Dungeons, he turned back, a question on his lips.

"Harry? If you don't mind me asking… If you're not insane, or poisoned, or depressed… What's wrong with you?" Harry had to look away from Neville's honest, caring eyes. _How can I tell him? I can't tell him that… That… I can't tell him what happened. I just couldn't do that to him…_ Eventually he just sighed.

"I'm just… Tired. That's all, Neville. I'm just really, really tired." He forced a smile. "Nothing to worry about. See you around, Neville." He kept the smile plastered across his face the whole way back to the Dungeons. Just in case.

News of Harry's supposed chronic tiredness spread fast. Teachers continued to let him get away with sleeping in lessons, and for a couple of days, students of all shapes and sizes approached him with advice on how to get more sleep. This soon ended when Harry received a package in the post containing Mr. Morpheus' Sleeping Solution – Need A Good Night's Sleep? You're Just A Pill Away! He had slowly drawn his wand, before silently incinerating the parcel into a pathetic smear of ash. He had then trudged up to the podium at the front of the hall, and proceeded to yell at the top of his lungs, "EVERYBODY! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE! KEEP YOUR MINDLESS SELVES OUT OF MY BUSINESS – MY SLEEPING HABITS ARE NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!" He received a detention for inappropriate language from an irate McGonagall, but, he reflected later, the stunned silence had been so worth it. _So, so worth it._

The only time Harry felt truly awake – truly _alive_ – was when he was playing Quidditch. At first, he had point-blank refused to play as Seeker, saying that it was unfair for him to take Draco's position. However, when the blonde made it clear that he had no intention of playing Seeker without Harry as his opposition ("What's the point, Potter?! I only played it to beat you! Without that, I just can't be bothered!), he had given in and accepted the invitation to be part of the Slytherin team. Once he was up in the sky, flying at breakneck speeds, faster and more dangerously than ever before, he felt at home. Almost at peace.

But he always had to catch the Snitch. And then he had to land. The first match of the season – predictably against Gryffindor – Harry had caught the Snitch in a triumphant fist, landed feet first for a change, and turned towards the mass of red that was the Gryffindor team- only to be engulfed in cheering Slytherins. For a moment, his head spun, and he could hardly breathe at the sheer _wrongness _of it all. And then he felt Draco place a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into sympathetic grey eyes, and couldn't help but smile, slightly. "I think Weasley has something to say," drawled Malfoy quietly, staring pointedly over Harry's shoulder. Harry whirled round, and saw Ron, standing awkwardly nearby, clutching his battered broomstick, the tips of his ears all red. Harry's heart melted. He stumbled over to his once best friend, and tried to smile. It must have come out wrong, though, because Ron just looked even more distressed. He cleared his throat, and held out a hand. "Good game, Potter." He mumbled quietly, his freckles standing out in his unusually pale face. Harry nodded, and not trusting himself to speak, simply clasped Ron's hand, and shook it firmly. His friend let out a strange, strangled-sounding noise, and before he could even react, Harry was drawn into a bone crushing hug. The first hug from Ron in about three years.

It was over almost as soon as it had begun, and before Harry could hug him back, Ron released him with a 'manly' slap on the back. He cleared his throat, and mumbled something about Quidditch cups, and rematches, and bloody seekers, before turned and almost running back to the safety of the patiently waiting red-robed Gryffindors. Harry nodded to himself, and ignoring the still cheering Slytherins, turned and wandered back to the castle, alone.

Halloween dawned bright and early on Friday morning – a surprisingly sunny day for such a dismal anniversary. The day began much as usual. Harry breakfasted alone in the kitchen (Dobby protecting him from the excessive hospitality of the other house-elves,) before making his way to History of Magic. He drifted in and out of sleep – accompanied by the rest of the class – and awoke only when he heard his name being uttered by an unusually cheerful Professor Binns. "As we are all aware, today is Halloween! And though many of us associate that day with the traditional wizarding celebrations, there is another reason we feast and hold such festivities! Fifteen years ago today, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished! We celebrate today, to remind us of the hope that he will be vanquished again – isn't that right, Mr. Potter?" Harry blinked, his shock far outweighing his fury. _Think Slytherin, think Slytherin… _

"I think that's the plan, Professor. Whether the plan will be adhered to is quite another matter." Ignoring the looks of confusion sent his way, he sunk back into his semi-conscious state of dreams, trying not to think about Halloween, or his long-dead parents.

How he ended up in Transfiguration, Harry wasn't quite sure. One moment, he was drifting away on the droning sound of Binns' voice, and the next, he was surrounded by the shrieking voices of the dead, clamoring for vengeance. Then, he was flat on his back, staring up into the worried face of Draco Malfoy, his chest heaving, bile rising in his throat, sweat stinging his eyes. He blinked. "W…What happened?" He muttered, as Draco helped him back into his seat. Malfoy just stared at him, and shook his head. _Not here. Not now._ Hermione, however, seemed to have lost all sense of reason.

"You had a nightmare!" Her voice was loud, and shrill, and Harry realized with a sinking feeling, that he must've been screaming fit to wake the dead. _That explains the looks of terror on everyone's faces, then._ "Was it… You-Know-Who?" Harry blinked at her, uncomprehending, uncaring. She bit her lip, and McGonagall resumed teaching. She was merely seconds into her lecture on the dangers of human transfiguration, when Hermione stood up, slamming her textbook onto the desk. "That's IT! This can't go on forever Harry!" She shrieked, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Miss Granger! Sit DOWN!" Hermione ignored the scandalized scolding of her Professor, and marched over to Harry's desk, standing over him.

"I've had just about ENOUGH, Harry! Ron and I, we've been worried sick! You can't just go around not sleeping, it's not healthy!" Harry regarded her coolly, and when he spoke, his voice was icy with disdain.

"I think I can handle my own life, thanks." Hermione stamped her foot childishly, tears splashing down her face.

"But you can't, Harry! Look at what you're doing! You're killing yourself!" Harry blanched, and stood up quickly, knocking his chair to the ground, but Hermione was faster. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and sobbed, "Harry, what would your parents say, if they could see you now?!" Harry knocked her hand off her arm, and stepped back, flushed with anger.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" But Hermione was not to be deterred.

"Harry, what would Sirius say if he could see you-"

"I don't KNOW, HERMIONE." Harry's anguished yell finally sent her stuttering into silence. "I DON'T KNOW, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, BECAUSE HE'S DEAD! HE'S DEAD! Ohchrist…" Harry shook his head, and shoved past her, bolting out of the door, leaving a stunned class in his wake. It was Draco's turn to stand up now, only he didn't yell. "Congratulations, Granger," he drawled, clapping his hands slowly. "You just facilitated the mental breakdown of one of your closest friends. Nice work, mudblood." Before McGonagall could even think about deducting points, Draco had sauntered out of the door, after Harry.

-----

It was getting dark by the time Draco found him. Harry was leaning over the edge of the Astronomy Tower, elbows propped up on the battlements, staring up at the night sky. Draco stood next to him, silently. Waiting. Harry pretended not to notice. Eventually the soft click of a cigarette lighter caught his attention, and he turned to face Draco, eyebrows raised. "I didn't know you smoked." Draco shrugged, and took a drag, sending three perfect smoke rings sailing away over the Forbidden Forest. Harry had turned away again before Draco answered softly,

"You didn't ask." Harry had to grin. It was true. He hadn't. He calmly accepted a cigarette from the proffered packet, and once it was lit, took a cautious puff.

"Christ!" He coughed and spluttered, eyes watering. He quickly stubbed it out on the stone ledge, and turned to face Draco properly. "Those things'll kill you, you know." Draco just laughed derisively.

"I'm not a Muggle. Wizards don't die of something as trivial as lung cancer." Harry frowned at the dismissive tone, but didn't press it, instead turning back to face the moonlit forest. There was brief pause of silence, the only sound the soft whoosh of Draco inhaling and exhaling repeatedly, echoed by the faint call of a Thestral. Draco caved first. He leant on the wall next to Harry, and poked his shoulder softly.

"Hey, Potter. Don't go all righteous on me. I didn't mean it like that." Harry looked up at him, and raised an eyebrow.

"No?" His voice was soft, disappointed. "How did you mean it then?" Draco looked away, and shrugged.

"I just… It's programmed in, Potter. Standardized responses and all that. I can't help it." He sounded slightly worried now, so Harry just nodded and looked up at the stars.

"Hey, Draco?" The Slytherin hummed in response. "Can… Can you point out Orion for me?" Draco snorted softly.

"That's first year astronomy, Potter." He sounded more amused than patronizing, so Harry let it slide, and instead fixed Draco with a pleading look. Malfoy grinned, and nodded. "Well, fair enough. See that line of three there? That's Orion's belt. There's his arrow, and that one, the really shiny one, that's Sirius, the Dog Star- Oh fuck. Sorry." He looked at Harry, panicked. Harry just smiled back and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Thanks Draco. I just… Just wanted to see him. Didn't know which one it was though." Draco nodded in understanding. "Stupid really," Harry mumbled, and turned to wander off downstairs. He was suddenly stopped by a pair of strong arms around his waist, Draco's head resting atop his own.

"It's not stupid to want to grieve, Potter." Harry shivered, and blinked furiously, the telltale prickling of tears growing stronger by the second.

"I…" His voice had gone all wobbly. "I just…" His breathing was catching in his throat. "I miss him, Draco. I really, really miss him! And… I don't want to believe that he's gone. I can't, can't accept that he's DEAD. That he's DEAD and GONE, and he's left me, Draco! He was all I had, and he's gone and left me all alone!" His breath hitched once more, and he finally felt hot tears sliding down his face. He felt Draco sigh, and all of a sudden, he was being embraced, his face buried in Draco's chest, an elegant hand running through his unruly hair, soothing words being whispered in his ear.

"It's okay, Potter. Harry. You're not alone. I.. I'm here. I can... I can be here for you. So you won't be lonely anymore." This just made Harry feel worse, and he pushed backwards, pulling away from Malfoy, looking at the ground.

"Dra- Malfoy. I... I can't let you... This is my punishment for being evil, and I have to battle through it, alone." Draco scoffed and shook his head, eyes suspiciously bright.

"Bullshit! You're not evil!" It was Harry's turn to scoff in disbelief.

"What else would you call me, Draco? I'm a killer. I'm a murderer. A filthy, twisted, murderer. These hands are bloodied and stained. You shouldn't be near me, Draco. You should stay away, where it's safe, where there's all things clean and pure. Keep away from me, Malfoy, keep away!" Draco made a shh-ing sound, and caught Harry's hands in his.

"Harry." His voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Harry, all the blood in the world couldn't keep me away." Harry could've sworn his heart skipped a beat. Draco smiled slightly, his grey eyes seeming to stare right into Harry's soul. "Anyway, you didn't kill them, Potter." _He can't mean that._ "I don't care what that greasy git says. I know you." _He honestly can't mean that!_ "I've known you for years. And you might be my nemesis, and an annoying, idiotic Gryffindor at that, but you're loyal and brave and kindhearted and true and…" _He… He thinks I'm innocent!_ "Potter I- Harry. Harry, I wouldn't care anyway, you know. Everyone breaks once in a while. And… Well, you've more reason than most. So don't feel so guilty for being human, okay?"

Harry tipped his face up to the sky, and took a deep breath, before nodding once. He knew Draco would understand, would hear the words he wanted to say but couldn't quite find. _I can try. I'm afraid that I won't succeed. But I'll try. I swear to you, I'll try. _

**Authors Note: **

Hooray, we've finally made it to half-way!

Next Chapter – Molten Steel (Sorry guys, no more previews now the story's getting good! However, I think I should post a **warning** now – I've been hinting at it, but yes, there WILL be SLASH in this story! If you don't like it, don't read it.)

Thanks to my loyal reviewers! – I hope the story continues to live up to your expectations!

Everyone else, please review! I'm not gonna post up the next chapters 'til I have at least one review m'kay?


	11. Molten Steel

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Molten Steel**

"Crucio!"

_Pain._

_White hot and bloody, all-consuming __**pain**__._

_Iwillnotscream, IwillNOTSCREAM, IWILLNOTSCREAM! _

_Oh, thankgod. Thankgod. _

Once the curse had been lifted, it took Draco a good few seconds to remember where he was, the realization only dawning upon him as he heard the Dark Lord's voice, high and cold as ice. "Not going to scream for me, Draconis?"

_Don't call me that. My mother calls me that, don'tcallmethat…_

The Dark Lord's voice had changed, into a soft, singsong attempt at playful childishness."Come now, Draconis! You're spoiling our little party." It made Draco shiver with disgust and fear, as he lay there gasping for breath, tears still wet on his face.

_Shut UP!_

"Draconis, I'm warning you." He was quietly menacing now, and in ways that was worse than violent anger. "You're spoiling all the fun!"

_Ohgod…_

"Well… If you aren't going to cooperate, then we'll have to find a different game to play, wont we?"

_Ohmygod… _

Draco braced himself, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, but the pain never came. Instead, Voldemort started to laugh. Draco almost started crying at the sound of that laugh. It was the stuff of nightmares, insane and malicious – but strangely, there was something gleeful in those eyes of red hell-fire, as though Voldemort was really, truly amused. Draco didn't know what was more scary, the fact that he was insane – or the fact that he found Draco's attempts at bravery _amusing_.

The Death Eaters had joined in the laughter now, and Draco was sure that he could hear his mothers soft, melodic laugh, entwined with his fathers deep baritone. Trying desperately to ignore the sounds that made his heart feel as though it were being pulled right out of his chest, Draco was suddenly and completely overwhelmed with the realization that half the people here were his _family_. His mother, father, godfather, his uncles and 'Auntie Bella'. And they were laughing as he was being tortured. They laughed while he writhed in pain. Draco gritted his teeth and rolled awkwardly onto his stomach, pushing himself upright with shaking arms. The Dark Lord laughed even harder, and Draco could do nothing but glare at him, still panting in pain and fear, his body spasming in the aftermath of the curse.

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his breath rasping, his mother laughing and laughing… _Stop laughing… Stop laughing at me! Ohgod, stop laughing! STOPLAUGHINGSTOP, STOP, _

"STOP LAUGHING!" The cry echoed loudly in the suddenly silent chamber, and Draco closed his eyes in despair. _What the fuck, Draco! What the fuck!! You're no Gryffindor! If the Dark Lord kills YOU, you WILL die! And it WILL hurt, you idiot!_ His conscience, strangely, sounded a lot like Potter. _Potter… I'm sorry, Potter. I-_

His desperate inner musings were cut short as someone kicked him in the head. He was sent sprawling to the ground, wrist crunching nastily as he landed, and he couldn't help the whimper of pain that escaped him. Voldemort smiled nastily, translucent skin stretching over his snake-like face. "Ah… So it seems the Malfoy child _does_ feel pain after all! That's good news. It means it will be all the more fun when I kill you, won't it?" Draco didn't even bother to close his eyes. He sagged helplessly in the grip of the two Inner Circle Death Eaters who had hauled him upright. He glanced curiously to his left, and felt his blood freeze when he recognized his Uncle Rabastan. Voldemort stepped towards him, and it was all Draco could do not to pass out in fear. He could feel himself shaking, the world going blank around the edges as he stared into those evil red eyes.

_Oh, ohgod, this is it. This is the end. This is my death!_

Voldemort raised his wand, his smile cruel, heartless.

_It wasn't supposed to BE this way, I was supposed to grow up, and pass my exams, be an amazing Auror, and have kids and fall in love and be loved and-_

The Death Eater next to him was shaking too, as Voldemort opened his mouth, wand pressed to Draco's forehead.

_It's too late! Everything is too late! I never got to tell my parents that I forgave them! I never got to tell Harry I was sorry, really sorry!_

"AVADA-"

_I never got to say goodbye, and now it's too late, I never got to tell him -"_

"KED-"

"_That I lo-"_

"NO!"

The silence was deafening. Draco blinked, and tentatively opened his eyes. The Death Eater next to him had spun round in front of Draco, his back to the Dark Lord, pulling Draco into a tight embrace, crushing him into his chest. Draco could feel him trembling, could feel his heart racing – could hear him crying. Crying? He pulled back slightly, and looked up-

Into the face of his father. Lucius Malfoy smiled down at his son, tears still pouring down his face. "I'm sorry, my son. I am sorry, so sorry…" He was babbling, his voice uneven and unusually emotional. _Probably,_ Draco thought numbly, _because he's going to die now. This is unforgivable. He's going to die now, and it's my fault-_ As though reading his mind, Lucius cupped Draco's face in his hands, and kept whispering, his words becoming blurred and near-indecipherable as he tried to say a lifetime of words in mere moments. "It's not your fault, son, it's mine. I should never have led you here. The blame is mine." He was sobbing now, and shaking. "I'm proud of you, Draco. You're a fine man – a finer, braver man than I. Tell your mother that I love her – I love you both, I will always lo-"

"CRUCIO!" Lucius fell to the floor, and screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

Scream after heartrending scream.

There was blood pouring from his mouth and ears, his fingers scrabbling helplessly on the tiled floor of his own home. Voldemort was laughing again, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Eventually, there was silence. Draco fell to his knees beside the still form of his father, and closed his eyes with shaking hands. This time, when he spoke, even Voldemort didn't laugh. "What do you want from me?" The Dark Lord said nothing. "In… In return for her life, what do you want from me?!" He looked up, and saw the glimmer of a smile on the Dark Lord's lipless mouth.

"Ah, so he has a brain. In return for your mother's life… What do I want?" He seemed to be seriously considering it, making Draco's blood boil. "I want Potter." Draco was speechless. "I know you have befriended him. I want you to get close to him, gain his trust. If all else fails, seduce the boy, I don't care." Draco looked up at this, eyes shining with disbelief and hatred.

"You want me to betray him?!" The Dark Lord laughed again.

"No, foolish boy. I am not going to kill him. I want him on our side. You will seduce him, mind, body and soul. Make him fall in love with us, with the Darkness. Turn him away from the Light, Malfoy-boy, and your mother will be spared." Draco hung his head, his mind racing. _Mother, or Potter. Mother or Potter. My mother, my own mother… Or… Potter. Do I save her? Or everyone? Christ, Potter. How is it that you manage to make these decisions?! We're to young, you and I, to have the weight of the world resting on our feeble shoulders! _He let out a shuddering sigh, and clambered to his feet, his eyes determined as they met Voldemort's eager stare.

"I'll do it." The snake-like man hissed in triumph, but Draco wasn't done. "I have three conditions." There was a murmur of surprise and scorn from behind him, but he stilled his shaking shoulders, and stared unblinkingly ahead. Voldemort nodded, gestured for him to continue. "My mother will not be harmed. Also, I will be permitted to take my fathers body, and honor him with a full Wizarding Burial." Voldemort nodded dismissively.

"And the third?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, his Malfoy charade back in place. "Well, that I receive my Father's honored position in the Inner Circle, of course. After all, you need someone of good blood… Someone high class, with money, ambition, political connections… In short, you need a true Slytherin on side, My Lord. Mark me. Make me your servant, My Lord, and if you want Potter… I'll get him for you. I swear it."

-----

"I'm sorry, Draco! I'm so, so sorry!" Draco flinched and kept walking up the massive stone steps of Hogwarts, desperately trying to ignore the distraught Gryffindor next to him. "Draco! Oh gods, Draco! Look, I'm sorry about this morning. I didn't mean it! I didn't! I was just, angry, and upset, and I didn't mean it! I… I don't want to lose you, Draco!"

Eventually, he looked round, stony-grey eyes meeting tearful-green. "What did you mean then?" He whispered. "What did you mean, when you called me Death Eater scum? What did you mean, when you called me Voldemort's slave? Tell me, Potter, tell me what you meant when you said I'd betrayed you! Tell me!" Harry ducked his head, and Draco could hear him crying softly, though any evidence of such weakness was quickly eradicated by the pouring rain.

"I just… I thought that… This morning, when Snape said something about a family reunion, I panicked! I just… I can't trust people! I can't! And I thought, I thought for one hideous moment that you were a Death Eater, all along! And that this whole time, this whole... friendship, or whatever the hell this is, had all been some massive plot to get to me!" Harry fell silent, and Draco couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the irony. _Oh, Harry…_

"Sorry to disappoint you, Potter. You saw my arm. No Mark. Perhaps you'd like another look, maybe test for Glamour charms? Just in case?" This just made Harry whimper slightly, as he shook his head, still refusing to meet his eyes.

_Oh, Harry. If only you knew. _

"No, Draco. I trust you. I do."

_If only you knew._

"I really do." Before Draco could so much as blink, Harry's hands were cupping his face, just as his father had done less than an hour previously. And then his lips, soft and sweet, were pressed desperately against Draco's, and it was all he could do not to pull away, to explain everything, to make this right, to fix this…

_But if you tell him, if you tell him now, he's gone._

_Forever. _

_You'll never get this chance again Draco! _

_Take it! _

_Take it! _

So Draco wrapped his newly-Marked arm around Harry Potter's waist, closed his eyes, tried to forget about Voldemort, Death Eaters, darkness and betrayal, and kissed him back.

**Authors Note: **

Well we've finally made it to half-way… And I have NO idea where this chapter came from… It wasn't at all how I'd planned…

Sorry for the shortness of this chapter! The next one will be better, I promise.

Next Chapter – Smoke and Mirrors (Sorry guys, no more previews now the story's getting good!)

Thanks to my loyal reviewers, Amber, Ellesra and BlueLawliet in particular. I hope the story continues to live up to your expectations!

Everyone else, please review! I'm not gonna post up the next chapters 'til I have at least one review m'kay?


	12. Smoke and Mirrors

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU. After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Smoke and Mirrors**

Harry couldn't sleep.

Moonlight was filtering through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains around his bed, bathing his face with silver.

He rolled over, burrowing into the soft darkness of his blankets, his mind fuzzy with sleep.

In the Common Room, the grandfather clock was striking twelve, deep mellow chimes echoing through the Dungeons.

Harry let out a sigh, and rolled over onto his back, kicking his blankets to the floor.

He could hear Zabini blundering to the bathroom, muttering to himself incoherently.

He stared up at the carved wooden canopy of his bed, his eyelids feeling suddenly and unbearably heavy.

Somewhere above his head, a floorboard creaked, and he could hear the crunching groan of a staircase changing.

Harry blinked, feeling himself slipping slowly away, his tired mind giving way, sending him spiraling into a haze of dreams.

"_Harry. Harry?" _

_Someone is calling his name. The voice is soft and grey. It reminds him of the slow, hypnotic movements of liquid mercury, and the bloody taste of money – the taste of power. A name filters into his head. Draco Malfoy. His friend? His boyfriend? __A lover at best, and a Dark Wizard at worst, he is powerful, rich, clever and beautiful. The ultimate Slytherin. He terrifies almost everyone. _

_Everyone but Harry._

_To Harry, Draco is his whole world. He knows he shouldn't be this dependent on someone, but Draco… Harry couldn't live without him._

_He doesn't know where these feelings have come from. They are unusual, unexpected – unprecedented. But when Harry had shouted at him, told him he hated him… The look on Draco's face broke Harry's heart, and he knows instinctively that he would do anything, anything at all to keep Draco from looking at him like that again. _

_Harry smiles slightly, and blinks, and once again he's standing outside in the pouring rain, Draco's arms around his waist, his hands buried in the taller boys hair, his heart racing fit to burst. They are on the stone steps outside the castle, bathed in raindrops and moonshadows, Draco's delighted smile making his blood burn. _

"_Harry… Harry, I… I'm sorry too. I trust you, I do. I trust you with my life. Do you trust me with yours, Harry?" Harry nods, smiling so widely that it's painful. Draco grins too, his white teeth glimmering in the starlight. "Give it to me, then, Harry. You say you love me, so give yourself to me. Give me your life. Give me your mind, your soul, your magic. Harry, give me your heart."_

_There's something there, something cold and hateful in Draco's eyes… Harry can do nothing but stare, aghast, his heart jumping erratically in his chest. There is something unreadable in his lover's face, something that causes fear and doubt to creep into Harry's mind, wrapping icy tendrils of confusion and mistrust around his heart. He steps back, green eyes wide, as the rain turns to acid, pouring down, setting his skin on fire. _

_Draco's face twists into a sneer, and he starts to laugh, his eyes shining red and bloody, and then it's Riddle, laughing at him, laughing and laughing. Harry stumbles backwards, noiseless screams pouring from his mouth, as Draco-Riddle moves towards him, his face contorted with anger, clawed hands reaching towards Harry's chest._

_He can feel his world imploding, tumbling away from beneath his feet. He's falling, crying, his heart is thumping, louder and louder, and he can hear blood pounding in his ears. Everything's blurred, everything's wrong… He can hear people screaming, screaming and hateful, hating him, hating, hating… So much hatred. It's blood red, and it makes his eyes burn._

_He can see Sirius now, falling backwards through the veil, grey eyes glaring, blaming him, silently accusing. He shakes his head, steps back, and turns around, only to see…_

_His father is standing there, arm around a weeping Lily, sneering and cold. "Get away from me, freak! You're the reason we're dead! We would be alive, alive and happy if it wasn't for you!" Each word is like a knife in his chest, and Harry staggers, and falls, through the floor, down and down, through the earth itself..._

_Suddenly, he's fallen all the way to the stars, and he can almost swear that they're laughing at him, mocking him. His vision starts to spin, everything is fizzling, and his heart is beating far too fast, too fast and too hard. The rush of blood is almost unbearable. He can see an eternity of it – of power and money and hurting and hatred and loneliness and darkness._

_The clock strikes thirteen, and he's back on the Hogwarts steps, rain trickling down under his collar, and over his parted lips. Draco is standing there, his hair like a halo of white-gold in the moonlight, his eyes wide and confused. There are tear tracks already glistening on his marble cheeks, and then he's crying, sobbing like a child. "Why… why don't you love me, Harry? Why don't you love me?! I thought you loved me, but you don't!" Harry gasps, and reaches out with shaking hands, his own eyes starting to water. _

"_I do!" His voice sounds hollow, fake. "God help me I do! I love you! I love you!" Draco stops crying, and stands there, head bowed, his shoulders still._

_Suddenly, his head snaps up, and his eyes look empty, glassy like those of a doll. "Prove it." His voice is strange - monotonous and blank. Harry steps back but nods, willing. Draco steps so close to him, that Harry can feel his breath on his face. Only, it isn't warm and sweet like he knows it should be. It's cold, and it smells like death. He looks up, and screams. _

_Riddle plunges his hand into Harry's chest, icy fingers clawing at his heart. _

_He is screaming, screaming and screaming, as Riddle rips out his heart in a dizzying fountain of scarlet lifeblood. _

_There is pain, pain like he's never felt, and he can't breathe, and the air tastes like Crucio, and the sky is green, green and glowing, and Harry is falling, falling and dying and-_

_He wakes._

Harry Potter woke up, gasping for breath, his eyes blurred with tears. For a moment, he could do nothing but lie and sob, deep, desperate sobs that can hardly even be described as such - more like massive convulsions of confusion and terror that racked his whole body, causing tears to escape from his tightly closed eyes.

_What… What's wrong with me? Why am I thinking like this?! Draco… He loves me! He hasn't said it in words, but he doesn't need to! I know that he would never hurt me, never! _

He shook his head, clawing at his face with shaking hands and tugging at his tangled hair until his eyes began to water.

_Just… get a grip Potter. Get a fucking grip, Harry, Harry? Harry, Harry-_

"Harry? Harry?! Potter! God, Potter! Are you okay?! Harry! Stop- Stop _doing_ that! Jesus Christ, Harry! Calm down! It was just a dream, just a nightmare! Harry! Harry!"

_I know that voice… I know these arms. I know this smell, this sound, this touch. Draco!_

"Draco! Oh, god, Draco!" Harry rolled over, and flung his arms around the Slytherin Prince, who was lying next to him. "Fuck, Draco!" Draco laughed softly, the warm sound melting a little of the icy terror that still had Harry's heart firmly in its grasp.

"Er, maybe later, Harry…" His voice was light and teasing, and it felt like summer sunshine, that warms your skin until it almost glows. Harry let out a shuddering sigh, and opened his eyes.

"Prat." He mumbled, his voice raw from screaming. He saw Draco frown slightly at the sound, and winced. "Sorry… Did I wake everyone?" To his relief, Draco shook his head and smiled reassuringly, tightening his hold around the ex-Gryffindor.

"Nah. I was awake anyway, couldn't sleep, so I cast a Silencing Charm the second you started to scream, and uh… tried to wake you up. No one even knew." Now that he mentioned it, Harry could see the dark circles around Draco's eyes, and the pale tinge to his face. Harry reached up, and stroked back a lock of blonde hair from Draco's face, frowning in concern.

"Draco-" The Slytherin hummed in response, pressing a playful kiss to Harry's tentative fingers. Harry sighed, and gave up, making a mental note to talk about it later. "Sorry for keeping you awake, Draco." Draco shrugged and smiled gently.

"Harry, you had a nightmare. I just looked after you. That's what boyfriends are for, isn't it?" For some reason, he looked uncharacteristically nervous as he said this, blinking rapidly and not quite meeting Harry's eyes. Harry just smiled softly and nodded, wriggling even closer, to rest his head on Draco's chest.

"Yeah." He mumbled sleepily, grinning helplessly. "That's what we are then? Boyfriends? It sounds so… gay." Draco gave a snort of nervous laughter.

"Well. What else would you call us?" Harry smiled up at him.

"Good point." He closed his eyes, blissfully relaxed, as Draco traced lightly over his face, as though learning it off-by-heart. His slender fingers danced softly over his cheeks, his lips, his eyebrows, eventually coming to rest on the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Harry cracked open an eye, and gave his _boyfriend_ a questioning look. "What? What is it?" Draco snatched back his hand, as though he'd been burned, and smiled.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Harry smiled back, but couldn't quite help the dark thought that crossed his mind.

_My smile is as fake as his is. _

As though sensing his disbelief, Draco quickly – albeit not very subtly – changed topic. "So, Harry. Got any plans for Christmas?" As predicted, Harry's face instantly closed off, his green eyes sad and distant.

"No…" _Well. I can't exactly go home… Mainly because I don't really have one. And the Weasley's aren't going to want me now. Not… Not now. _"Not really." To his surprise, this reply made Draco smile. "What?" asked Harry grumpily, folding his arms. "What's so great about that me having no family, and no friends?" Draco kept grinning.

"Well, Potter, the great thing is… If you've no place left to go… Then perhaps I can offer you an alternative?" Harry sat up in surprise.

"Draco… Are you… Are asking me what I think you are?" Draco laughed, sitting up slowly.

"How should I know?! Don't expect me to be able to fathom the way your twisted little mind works." Harry rolled his eyes, hitting Draco playfully on the arm.

"Idiot. If you're going to ask me over to Christmas, then do it properly!" Draco raised an eyebrow, and opened his mouth to protest that he hardly needed to ask _now_, but Harry beat him to it. "Please?" Pleading green eyes, and a trembling lower lip were obviously a lethal combination for Draco – for reasons Harry didn't even want to begin to think about – and he nodded.

"Okay. Harry. I would love it if you would agree to spend Christmas at Malfoy Manor with me. I… My father won't even be home, and… Harry, I hate the thought of you celebrating Christmas here alone!" Harry grinned. _I knew it! I never should have doubted him. Never. Never again, Draco. I'll never doubt you again._

"Aww. Aren't you cute. Such an adorable little Hufflepuff…" Draco looked scandalized.

"Hufflepuff?! I'll have you know I'm the perfect Slytherin! I want you there for perfectly selfish reasons, thank you very much!" Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco elaborated.

"Life would be boring without you around to fail at stuff, and provide me with endless, endless amusement!"

_And, Harry, you'll be guaranteeing my mothers life for another month._

_It's the best Christmas present a guy could ask for._

_Even… even if you don't know that you're giving it._

-----

Surprisingly enough, even Dumbledore consented to the idea – 'even though that was probably because he knew he couldn't do a damn thing about it, and wanted to keep me on side', as Harry had so eloquently phrased it later, much to Draco's amusement. Consequently, come Christmas Eve, Harry found himself spinning through the air via portkey, and landing with a soft thump in a snowdrift outside Malfoy Manor. Ignoring Draco's near-hysterical laughter, he hauled himself to his feet and dusted himself off with as much dignity as possibly. Scooping up his Head of House cane, and brushing a final flurry of snowflakes off his embroidered traveling cloak, he stalked towards the massive silver gates. The closer he got, the slower his footsteps became, and eventually he stopped dead, staring open-mouthed at the scene before him. He felt Draco walk up behind him, and spun round, pointing at him accusingly.

"Draco Malfoy! You never told me you lived in a _castle_!" Draco blinked, and shrugged.

"I don't. It's a mansion. It's called Malfoy Manor, you know, Potter. I can't help it if you're thick." Harry scowled, and turned back to face the house. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, resting his chin on the shorter boys shoulder. "It's gorgeous, isn't it?"

Harry couldn't help but agree.

The snow was falling lightly through the air, forming a glittering white blanket over immaculate lawns that stretched to the horizon – and possibly beyond. Starting at the shining wrought-silver gates, a white-pebbled pathway lead across the grounds to a pair of giant pale oak double-doors. Malfoy Manor itself was a vast, five-floor building, made entirely of what Harry could only guess was marble, or some other kind of precious white stone. The grey velvet drapes were pulled back in the lofty French windows, allowing soft candlelight to spill out, dappling the snowdrifts with orange and gold. Shining alabaster pillars, more than three times the height of a man, encircled the building, supporting the balconies that ran the whole way around the upper floors. As they got closer to the Manor, they passed fountains frozen in mid-flow that glimmered like diamonds, and rows of silver-birch trees, encrusted with fairy-lights, that sent glittering spirals of fairy-dust drifting to the ground. Harry gasped as he realized that the front of the house was covered entirely by a strange white plant, like delicate albino ivy, that was covered in tiny star-shaped flowers, which shone lustrously in the moonlight like living opals.

Just as Harry started to walk up the marble steps to the doors, they were flung open, bathing the two boys in light, and warmth, and the scent of polished wood and lily-flowers. _Home._ Narcissa Malfoy stood in the doorway, her blonde hair shining in loose curls around her shoulders, diamonds sparkling at her wrists and throat. She was wearing long grey silk robes, and a rare smile. Harry thought she was perfectly beautiful. "Draconis!" _Even her voice is the voice I would imagine a mother to have… _ Harry watched enviously as Draco was enveloped in a tight hug – though all thoughts of jealousy were quickly crushed as Narcissa pulled back and Harry could've sworn he could see tears swimming in her eyes. _She really, really loves him! _Narcissa turned to face him, and he hastily plastered on an aristocratic smile, and held out his hand.

"Mrs. Malfoy, it's an absolute pleasure. I can't thank you enough for-" He was cut off as Narcissa rolled her eyes, and drew him into a hug. He blinked, tentatively hugging her back. She made no motion to let go, and Harry could feel his eyes beginning to water. Eventually, just as he felt like he could suppress the tears no longer, she drew back and smiled.

"Harry Potter, it is an honor. You are most welcome here." As she turned and gestured for them to follow her into the house, Harry couldn't help but sniff slightly, wiping his eyes on the cuff of his robes.

"Hey, you okay?" Harry smiled softly at Draco's frantic whisper, and nodded.

"Yeah. Sorry. That.… That's the second time someone's hugged me like that." Draco frowned, as Harry hastened to clarify, "Like… Like a mother." Draco's expression softened, and he drew Harry closer, grasping his hand.

"Come one. Let's get you into the warm. I'm sure Mother has a splendid feast planned out by now, and I can't wait to show you around… There's the library, the music room, my bedroom – oh and the Indoor Quidditch Pitch! It's fantastic, we've got a whole set of balls, and I've got some robes and a broom you can borrow if you didn't pack yours…"

As he talked, Draco's heart was slowly breaking at the look on Harry's face. He was practically glowing with excitement, and though he wasn't outwardly overenthusiastic, Draco could see the almost desperate happiness in his eyes. _He's never had this, before… This is… This is what he has dreamed of! Every little boy should have had this, growing up. He didn't. He lived practically in poverty, with… With __**muggles**__, who despised the ground he walked on. His chance for a happy Christmas was destroyed when he was only one year old. Destroyed by… By the man I have sworn his life to. _

_Christ, Draco, you stupid bastard. _

_What have you done?_

_What have you __**done?**_

**Authors Note: **

Next Chapter – Bloody Eyes and Mistletoe

Thanks to my loyal reviewers! – I hope the story continues to live up to your expectations!

Everyone else, please review! I'm not gonna post up the next chapters 'til I have at least one review m'kay?


	13. Bloody Eyes and Mistletoe

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU. After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Bloody Eyes and Mistletoe**

Fortunately for Draco, his slow, panicked spiral into a desperate mess of hysteria and regret was brought to a sudden halt, as Harry squeezed his hand, snapping Draco's thoughts firmly back to the present. He blinked, and smiled slightly at the look on Harry's face – one of masked amazement. "What were you expecting, Potter? Cauldrons of slime and cobwebbed chandeliers?" Harry chuckled.

"Hardly. It's just…" He paused, his face suddenly impassive, save for the flicker of uncertainty still dancing in his eyes. Draco nudged him.

"Just what?"

Harry smiled ruefully, his face still far too wooden, too polite for Draco's liking. "It's not at all like Slytherin." Draco laughed, and Harry glared at him, evidently offended. "What's so funny, Malfoy?!" He snapped. "I just sort of _assumed_ that Slytherin was decorated in the typical Pure-blooded fashion! I've only seen two Pureblood Wizarding houses in my life before, and one of those was the Weasley's! So forgive me, if I'm a little surprised!" Draco was about to apologise, but Narcissa, who had been speaking to a House Elf in hushed tones, beat him to it.

"Well, in actual fact, most British pure-blooded wizards – particularly Slytherin ones – do indeed tend to style their homes in a similar fashion to the Slytherin common room and dormitories. However, the Malfoy's have some French ancestry, and consequently, we appear to have picked up a lot of their traditions and styles, and tend to veer away from the more… _Medieval_ tastes of the British." She paused, seeming slightly offended about something, and Harry suddenly realized his mistake.

"Oh!" He said hurriedly, smiling his charming 'Lord Potter-Black Smile'. "Forgive me, Lady Malfoy, if I have caused you any offence! My comparison was not unkindly meant! I was just surprised at the sheer wondrous elegance of your home! In hindsight, I should have foreseen it – after all, Draco, and indeed your lovely self, are peoples of such perfect grace, and class, that the Malfoy Estate could surely only be a place of such exquisite style and taste as to reflect your flawless bloodline." He trailed off, his mouth turning suddenly dry. The last thing he wanted to do was insult Narcissa Malfoy. After all, if he was to survive an encounter with Lucius, then he would need Narcissa on side.

To his relief, Narcissa laughed softly, and waved a dismissive hand. "No, indeed, do not trouble yourself, Mr. Potter. After all, you can hardly help your ignorance in such matters, considering your less than desirable upbringing." There was a long, awkward silence. Harry's eyes narrowed to slits of acidic green, and he let go of Draco's hand, taking a step forward. For a moment, Draco was horribly afraid that Harry was going to start yelling, but when the ex-Gryffindor spoke, it was in a tone of forced-calm.

"It's Lord Black, actually." Narcissa's eyes widened and Draco suddenly remembered that his mother was actually a Black prior to her marriage to Lucius Malfoy. The thought of Harry being the Head of his mother's maiden family was so preposterous that he had to turn away and pretend to cough into his hand in order to disguise his amusement. Unfortunately, his mother was more than familiar with his tricks, and shot him an icy glare. The glare softened when she turned back to Harry, and though the atmosphere was still tense, Draco could tell his mother was more confused than anything.

"Very well, Lord Black. I apologise for my mistake. I was unaware that the Potters had any connection to the House of Black." Harry nodded his head slowly, and Draco could see him freeze.

"I…" His voice, though slightly strained, was steady. "The late Sirius Black is- was my godfather, and he bequeathed the title of Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to me in his last will and testament – along with the family vaults, and properties." Narcissa stared at him, speechless, but chose wisely not to question Harry any further.

"I see. Shall we proceed into the Drawing Room? I am sure it will be far more comfortable there than standing around in a draughty entrance hall…" Harry nodded, and as they headed into the heart of Malfoy Mansion, Draco breathed a soft sigh of relief. He looked over at Harry, and was disheartened to note that his face was slightly pale and drawn, and his hands were clutching almost desperately at his robe-sleeves. Draco reached out, and gently prized Harry's fingers open, slipping his hand smoothly into their grasp.

"Hey," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't think to warn her. I just thought she would know…" Harry chuckled bitterly.

"Yeah. Parents are supposed to know everything, aren't they?" Draco couldn't think of any reply to that, so he just squeezed Harry's hand, and they walked on in silence.

Harry seemed a lot more at home once he was seated in a soft cream armchair, his legs curled up under him like a cat. Draco could tell why. The entrance hall had been impressive – all marble and gold-leaf, with soaring spiral staircases and glimmering golden banisters, and an enormous diamond chandelier. The Drawing Room, however, had walls panelled in light ash-wood, and thick, luxurious carpets in a delicate shade of ecru. The fireplace was again white marble, but the fire was lit and dancing merrily, casting the whole room with a glow of golden-orange. There were several gold frames on the walls, their oil-painted occupants snoring softly, and the mahogany upright piano in the corner was tinkling gently, a muffled arpeggio adding to the cosy atmosphere. Draco flopped down onto the ivory ottoman and smiled to himself. There really was no place like home.

To Harry, the rest of the evening passed in a blur of pleasant conversation. It was draining, however, trying to keep up with the two aristocrats, and he soon found himself falling asleep. Draco noticed the slightly glazed look to Harry's eyes first, and grinned. "We aren't boring you, are we Harry?" Harry blinked, started, and sat up straight.

"Uh, no, of course not…" He cleared his throat, and seemed to find his bearings. "The standard of conversation is merely so high, and, erm, stimulating that I find myself falling a little behind, as it were. A wise man once told me that if one does not have anything intelligent to bring to the conversation, it is best to remain silent, and therefore, therefore-" He broke off into a wide yawn, and grinned apologetically. "Sorry." Narcissa and Draco laughed, and the Lady Malfoy stood, ringing a small silver bell. A House Elf appeared, bowing frantically.

"Our guests desire to retire for the night. Are their chambers prepared?" The House Elf nodded and bowed again, squeaking a confirmation. "Good. Well then, Draco, Lord Black. I bid you goodnight." Narcissa swept from the room with a rustle of silken skirts, and Draco turned to Harry – who was now fast asleep. The Malfoy heir chuckled, and lifted Harry easily from the chair. Harry stirred and mumbled something incoherent, before nestling deeper into Draco's robes. Draco grinned, and carried Harry upstairs to bed, before stumbling back to his own room, tumbling into his beloved four-poster, and falling asleep the moment his head touched the green silken pillows.

The next two days seemed, to Harry, like a rather bizarre, although not unpleasant dream. He would wake up each morning, and it would take a good few minutes before he could persuade himself that he really was awake, and lying in a deliciously large four-poster bed in Malfoy Manor. The mornings he would then spend with Draco, wandering around the corridors hand-in-hand, Draco regaling him with stories of his childhood. They explored the West Wing, and the Portrait Gallery, and eventually Harry had put in a plea to visit the Malfoy Library. The majority of his time at Grimmauld Place at the end of the summer had been spent pouring over large, dusty old tomes, filled with runes and bloodstains and dark, Black magicks. Although he remained loath to actually _use_ any of the spells he'd read about, Harry had been fascinated, and the very thought of the Malfoy Library, the thought of row upon row of mostly-illegal books about the Dark Arts was enough to make him drool. Draco didn't take much persuading – the promise of a game of Quidditch later that evening seemed to do the trick – and they had spent an entire day reading. Or at least, Harry had poured over the musty old books, and Draco had divided his time between the two riveting past-times of Harry-Watching, and playing hangman against himself.

However, despite his luxurious surroundings, Harry couldn't help but feel like something was wrong. He had been mentally preparing himself for the return of Lucius Malfoy ever since the night he had arrived, but so far, the Head of the Malfoy family had remained conspicuously absent. This, Harry found decidedly strange. He knew Mr. Malfoy had broken out of Azkaban – _everyone_ knew. The thing was, as far as the Light side were concerned, Lucius Malfoy was lurking safely at home, plotting behind closed doors that would remain closed, due to his assumed fear of being re-captured. _I always knew Malfoy was no coward,_ Harry thought grimly, picking at his roast chicken. _I just didn't realise he would be out there, working with Voldemort…_ He sighed internally, and tried to convince himself that it was a good thing. _It's just… Well, it's what everybody says, isn't it? The better the devil you know. If there's a snake in the garden, it's always better to keep it in sight, so you won't be struck down from behind…_ He shivered, and a quick glance up at Draco revealed that the other boy had noticed, and was now staring at him.

Before Draco could say anything, Harry cleared his throat. Narcissa looked up, and raised an eyebrow. "I was just wondering…" _Steady, steady. _"I was just wondering whether we were to be expecting anyone else joining us over Christmas?" _Not the best phrased question, and not subtle enough by half… _However, if Narcissa realised what he meant, she chose to ignore it.

"As you are no doubt aware, a majority of our… associates, would not be welcome here, in the present circumstances. We shall be celebrating Christmas as just the three of us." _Ah. Yeah. The Death Eaters. That really wouldn't be clever. But still… I would've thought that Lucius wouldn't want to pass up a chance to suck up to the Chosen One. There's something not right about this!_

"Lucius won't be joining us then, I take it?"

The moment the words left his lips, Harry regretted it. Narcissa, who had been about to take a drink, dropped her wine glass, sending a wave of crimson spreading out over the table, staining the white linen. Bewildered, Harry turned to Draco – and froze. Draco was sitting perfectly still, his face impassive. His eyes were stony, his mouth stern. He looked like the Slytherin bastard that Harry had fought, had argued with, had _hated_ for the past five years. "I… I apologize; I didn't mean to speak out of turn, I just… Wondered…" He fell silent, his mouth suddenly unbearably dry. A quick glance back to Narcissa, and he felt his skin begin to tingle, goosebumps twisting across the back of his neck. The two Malfoys were both sat perfectly still, like a tableau of pureblood animosity, like waxworks. _I… I don't understand! What's happened?! _Unable to take another second of this tense silence, of Narcissa staring at Draco, of Draco, staring at the still-spreading wine, Harry leapt to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor.

Instantly, Narcissa looked up at him, and shook her head slowly. "No, it's… It's not your fault, I…" She trailed off, and went back to staring at Draco. She blinked, and then without warning, slammed a bejewelled hand down flat on the table, making the silver cutlery rattle. "You didn't tell him, Draco!" Draco stared at her. "You swore to me, Draconis! You swore that you told him!" Draco sighed, and tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. "How could you not tell him!?" Narcissa had gone white, her lips pressed together – a habit that Harry recognised with a pang. It was the same thing Aunt Petunia did when she was angry with him. Still standing, he reached over, and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"What is it, Draco? What's happened?" Draco ignored him. Flat-out ignored him, staring fixedly over Harry's shoulder. Out of curiosity, Harry turned and looked – and found himself staring at the proud face of Lucius himself. The Malfoy family portrait. He frowned, and turned to Narcissa. "I'm sorry, I… This is… Where is he?! I can't be here if… I'm not accusing, I'm… I'm just…" _Where is he?! Is he with Voldemort?! Are they coming?! Are they coming for me?! Has this all been some massive, elaborate scheme, is he here already, is he here, is he coming?! Are they coming, _"Are they coming for me?!" That last thought came out as a rather high-pitched whisper, and the second he realised he had spoken aloud, Harry was instinctively moving backwards, fumbling for his wand.

However, instead of guilty looks, or calm, comforting reassurances, Draco offered nothing but a stony glare, and Narcissa let out a very shaky, audible breath. Finally, Draco spoke. "Calm down, Potter. Everything isn't all about you, you know." Harry flinched. The cold sarcasm was biting, and he was once again forcibly reminded of those days years ago, Malfoy's sneering voice ringing in his ears, taunting him, goading him, hating him. _So… So it was just pretend, after all. _

_I…_

_I thought…_

_I thought I would be angry._

_But I'm not. _

_I'm just…_

_Tired. _

He let out a sigh, and rubbed the back of his head, his hair sticking up even more messily than before. Making a decision, he tugged off his borrowed robes from Grimmauld Place, and flung them at Malfoy, leaving him standing there in his muggle jeans and oversized t-shirt. _Time for one last effort. Mustn't let him see, mustn't let him know he's got to you…_ "Keep 'em." He mumbled. "I'm done with this." He turned on his heel, and would have left, if Narcissa hadn't leapt to her feet, and cried,

"Potter, wait!" He paused, but didn't turn around. "Potter, he doesn't mean it!" And then, in a sharper, more desperate voice, "Draco! For pity's sake, Draco! He's leaving you! Tell him the truth! Tell him what happened!" Silence. "Draco! Tell him what happened, or I will!" This, at last, got a reaction, a hiss of breath, and then,

"Don't you dare." His voice was cold, laced with… fear?

"Don't make me, then! You have to, Draco, he needs to know!" Narcissa's voice sounded strange, like she was trying not cry.

"No! It's none of his business! It's none of YOUR business!" Draco had leapt to his feet too, now.

"Of course it's my business! How dare you!" Narcissa's voice was steadily increasing in pitch, and Harry winced, his eyes closed tightly.

"How dare I?! How dare YOU?! HE'S MY FATHER-" Draco's cold, passionless façade had finally splintered, into a white-hot burst of desperate anger.

"HE WAS MY HUSBAND TOO!"

At Narcissa's cry, the room seemed to fall suddenly, deafeningly silent, bar the sound of heavy breathing. Harry turned around slowly, not looking at Draco, staring instead at Narcissa, who had tears dribbling desolately down her face. _Was?_ His sudden, chilling assumption was clarified, as the Malfoy - widow? - spoke.

"Potter… Lucius, Lucius is dead!" Harry stared at her, unable to move. He stood, motionless, as Draco let out a roar of anger, and seizing his protesting mother by the waist, flung her bodily from the room. It was only when Draco hurled a wine glass at the family portrait, that he sprang into action, and with a quick curse, shattered the glass in mid-air, before it could reach its destination.

There was a long silence, in which the words, _Why didn't you tell me? _lay unspoken, heavy and accusing in the air. Eventually, Draco spoke. "Potter. I didn't want you to know, because… Because, well…"

"Because what?!" _Ah. There's the anger. A big, rising blood-red tidal wave of fury. Lovely. _"Because you don't trust me, or because you didn't think I'd care!?" The words spilled out, unheeded and acidic, like poison.

"No!" Harry stared at Draco, his face accusing. Draco stared back, his eyes wild. "Because I didn't want your fucking PITY!" Harry was stunned.

"My… What?! Pity?! What the fuck, Draco! Your father has just DIED, why in the name of Merlin SHOULDN'T I pity you?! I KNOW HOW YOU FUCKING FEEL, YOU BASTARD! I know, I know that it's all you can think about, that it's always THERE, that cold bite of pain, GRIEF, they call it! When your fucking hearts broken, because he's gone and left you, left you to fight this all by your goddamn self, and then you feel guilty, because its not his fucking FAULT, its YOURS, because there MUST have been SOMETHING you could've done, something, anything, anything…" He trailed off, his breath hitching. Draco snapped, and crossed the room in three strides, crushing Harry in a rib-cracking embrace.

Harry slowly brought his arms up, and drew Draco closer. He could feel the blonde boys breath, uneven against his neck, his heartbeat thumping erratically against Harry's chest. He was just beginning to relax, beginning to hope that maybe this could be fixed, that this could still be made right, when Draco drew back, stumbling backwards until he was just out of reach. "I'm sorry, Harry. But… I don't deserve your pity. I don't – don't look at me like that. It's true." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco just shook his head wearily. "Harry, I… I'm…" He gave up, and wordlessly drew back his robe sleeve. Harry stared.

And stared.

There, on Draco's previously unblemished forearm, marring the skin once so smooth and silky-white, a hideous, twisted, leering face, black and burning.

_The Dark Mark._

_Voldemort's mark._

"Wh… Why d'you… What… Draco. Draco!" He looked up, his eyes wide and fearful, and was stunned to find that Draco's expression matched his own. "You're… You're a Death Eater." His voice was quiet and hollow, empty, soulless. Draco nodded, and spread his hands in a gesture of bewilderment.

"I'm sorry, Harry! I swear, I swear, I didn't… This wasn't all some big plan, I-"

"How long." _I have to know, I have to… Ohgod… _

"Harry, look, just, just stay calm, and hear me out-"

"How. Fucking. Long." Draco blinked owlishly, but this time didn't hesitate to reply.

"Since that day. Where we fought. And you…" Harry laughed bitterly.

"You mean the day I apologised for thinking you were a lowlife Death Eater, plotting against me? Stop fucking about and tell me! Was it since September? Since that day in the Hospital Wing?! Or was it before?! Have you been planning this all along?! What about the Ministry, were you one of them then?! Did you help them plan it, how they were going to trick me into KILLING MY GODFATHER?! IS THIS ALL SOME SICK, SICK GAME?! TELL ME, DRACO! TELL ME THE FUCKING TRUTH-" He broke off, his vision blurring into a dripping canvas of red-yellow candlelight, and Draco's wide, staring eyes, terrified, terrified-

_I'm terrified. _

_I don't, I don't, what's happening?! I can't, can't see, can't think can't can't Draco, Draco, Draco-_

Draco Malfoy was beyond terrified. Harry Potter had collapsed in his dining room, and seemed to be having some kind of fit. He was shaking, his eyes rolled back into his head, shaking and hissing. Hissing? Parceltongue. Draco knelt down, and tried frantically to pin him to the floor by his shoulders. "Harry! Harry!" In a sudden, desperate, crazy attempt to just wake him up, to just STOP that goddamn SHAKING, he kissed Harry sharply on the lips. Harry froze, and Draco pulled back, and found himself staring into the eyes of the devil.

Red.

Red like blood, like fire.

Burning in his Harry's face, staring at him with such rage, such hatred. Draco let out a yell of horror, and scrambled backwards, onto his feet. Harry – if it even was Harry any more – rolled over onto his stomach, and hauled himself upright. "Malfoy…" That voice, that cold, high, hissing voice... Draco stumbled backwards, scrabbling for his wand. "Dra-co. Mal-foy." The Harry that wasn't Harry walked forwards slowly, grinning. Draco raised his wand, aimed it right between his boyfriend's – except it wasn't, it wasn't – eyes.

"Not… Not him… You're not, you're not!" His voice was raw, afraid. Harry didn't stop walking. He raised his hand, and Draco knew instantly what would happen, his mind suddenly filled with the memory of Zabini, white and smelling of piss, pinned to a wall. Then, as expected, Harry's hand was crushing his throat, slamming him back against the wall. Draco gasped in pain, and thrashed wildly for a couple of seconds, his hands scratching at Not-Harry's, but it wasn't any good, nothing was any good against _this_, nothing could fight this twisted, filthy, red-coloured evil, nothing except- "Harry!" He choked out, his eyes crossing slightly, his lips turning blue. "Pleasedon't… It's me, Harry! Ohfuck, it's me, it's Draco, fuck, it's your Draco! Please don't kill me!"

The second the words passed his lips, Harry's eyes swirled, and for a moment, they were a kaleidoscope of emeralds and blood, and then they were back, Harry's eyes, his death-green eyes, staring wildly at Draco. There was a moment of silence, and then the hand around Draco's neck loosened, softening into a caress of calloused fingers over bruised skin. "I'm not going to kill you, Draco." Harry whispered, leaning forwards. "I'm going to kiss you. If I may." Draco didn't even have time to nod, before Harry was kissing him, desperately, desperately, because they knew, they both knew that this moment of perfection, this brief moment of love and comfort and peace…

This couldn't last.

**Authors Note: **

Next Chapter – Thirteen O'clock

Sorry! I know I seem to be taking ages (months?!) to update, but holidays and exams and other stories all seem to be consuming my life, and Rogue has gotten a bit abandoned…


	14. Thirteen O'Clock

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU. After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Thirteen O'Clock**

They didn't talk about it.

_It's Christmas,_ Harry decided. _I can't be all worried and miserable at Christmas – that's just selfish._ And even after Christmas, the excuses kept coming._ It was probably nothing, anyway. So I blacked out. So I woke up and found myself choking Draco half to death. I'm Harry-fucking-Potter, these things happen! It was probably just-_

_Nothing I can do, is there?! So what's the point in bothering him? _Draco was no more inclined to mention the incident on Christmas Eve than Harry. _He seems fine, distracted, but fine. He probably doesn't even realise what happened, and I sure as hell don't want to be the one to tell him that he's-_

_Just being silly. No point thinking about it. _Harry laughed bitterly to himself in those long hours he spent trying in vain to get to sleep. _You're at Draco's house, with Draco, with nothing more to do than be entirely yourself, why're you complaining? Just go to sleep, you're-_

_Draco-fucking-Malfoy. Not scared of anything. Not scared. I'm not fucking scared, I'm-_

_Terrified. But I shouldn't be, shouldn't be. Draco would have said something, if it was important, if-_

_It happens again, I have to be ready, have to be ready, have to-_

_Just relax. Everything is going to be okay. I'm sure of it. _

New Year's Eve dawned, pale and grey-looking, the sky a wide stretch of emptiness. Harry sighed, and turned away from the large French windows, letting a velvet drape swing back into place, and headed for the wardrobe. Today, like every day since Christmas, he and Draco were going to the library. Harry was sure Draco was researching something of importance, but whenever he asked, the only reply he got was that there were tests after the holiday, and Slytherins had a reputation to keep up. Shaking his head, Harry reached for a long, black robe, and shrugged it on. He turned, glanced at himself in the mirror, and shook his head. Who was he trying to kid? There was a muggle-raised half-blood staring back, and no amount of robes, or glamour charms, or fancy speeches were going to change that.

_But Draco… Draco loves this. He loves the new __Harry; he loves Lord Harry Potter-Black – which, in my opinion, is the most idiotic sounding name I've ever heard. He… He doesn't love a clumsy, stupid, brave Gryffindor. He loves the Slytherin in me. The Darkness. _Harry scowled. Ever since Christmas Eve, everything had been different. He knew that Draco was a Death Eater – had in fact, been a Death Eater since the day they first kissed. Had been part of a plot to seduce him away from the Light. And even though Draco had sworn he didn't mean it, had sworn that it was to save his own skin, that he'd never _dream_ of handing Harry over to Voldemort… Well, Harry couldn't help but remember Wormtail – remember how his dad's childhood friend had sentenced him to his death, to save his own cowardly self. And while Draco wasn't a coward, exactly… _He would do everything he could to stay alive. _Harry had seen Lucius Malfoy at work, all smiles and charm, carefully chosen words and crafted masks, tricking people, bewitching them into believing every filthy lie he spoke.

Consequently, things between the two boys were very strained. They still spoke, but their conversations remained on safe ground – Quidditch, wizarding cuisine, Rita Skeeter's latest ludicrous article. The main newspaper headlines – of war, of murder, and of Harry, were not mentioned. It wasn't just their previously easy conversation that was suffering, either. Neither boy was especially clingy – they didn't 'cuddle', or make out in corridors. But the small, casual touches, the entwined hands, the feather-light brush of fingertips against a wrist, or lower back, the reassuring weight of a head resting on a shoulder, the soft press of lips to a cheek… While they hadn't stopped altogether, they seemed restrained, forced. Harry sighed again, placed his own hand against his cheek, letting his eyes close, imagining that it was Draco, his pale, slender fingers brushing against his skin, skimming over his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his inquisitive fingertips tracing his scar, as they had often used to…

There was the announcing 'crack' of a House Elf, and Harry whirled around, his eyes flying open. "Yes?" He snapped, flinging the robe back in the wardrobe, and deciding that if either Malfoy had a problem with muggle clothing, they could damn well tell him. It would give him a vent for his frustration, at any rate. The House Elf bowed, and stammered it apologies. "Master Draco is waiting in the kitchen, sir. He says Lord Harry Potter, sir, must join him at once!" Harry scowled.

"Well you can tell _'Master Draco'_ that he can keep his goddamn orders to himself!" Then, after a pause. "I'll be right down." The House Elf nodded, bowed, and left, leaving Harry to turn back to the mirror, his anger draining away. He looked tired, and pale, and his glasses couldn't quite hide the dark circles that ringed his eyes like bruises. Out of politeness, and perhaps, not wanting to exacerbate the already awkward atmosphere, Harry switched his baggy t-shirt for a black button-down shirt that he had found among Sirius' muggle clothes. There were cufflinks sewn in, shaped like dragons. He traced them gently with his fingers, before jamming his wand into the waistband of his jeans, and heading to the kitchen.

When he arrived, Draco was sitting at the pine table, sipping what looked like coffee, but smelt suspiciously like Firewhisky. Harry sat down opposite, and asked a House Elf for some tea. He blew gently on the surface, trying to cool the still-steaming liquid, and glanced over at Draco. The blonde boy looked terrible. Harry sat up a bit straighter. This was new, this was different. Something had changed the monotony of the last week, something had changed. _Maybe… Maybe this is where things get better?_ His subconscious pointed out. It was promptly squashed by a wave of deep blue pessimism – _maybe this is where things get worse._

"Draco?" The Malfoy heir – the Malfoy Head of House, now, looked up, blinking slowly. He was even paler than Harry, and his hair was falling over his face in disarray. He didn't answer. "Isn't it a bit early for that?" Harry gestured vaguely at the coffee mug grasped loosely in Draco's hand. Draco just shook his head slowly.

"What else would you recommend, Potter?" He mumbled eventually, his voice hoarse – though from sleep, or from crying, Harry couldn't tell. "My fathers dead, and my boyfriend won't even touch me, won't even look me in the eye. What the hell else have I got to get away from this?" Crying, then. Harry sighed, and stood up, moving round to Draco's side of the table. He sat down slowly on the slate-tile floor, and let his head rest on Draco's thigh.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I thought… I don't know. I'm sorry." He could hear Draco's breathing hitch, and a tentative hand placed itself on his head, fingers running gently though his hair.

"It's not your fault." Draco said eventually. "It's mine. I should've told you, about being a- about what I am, about my father… I should've told you before we… Before… But you kissed me, Harry! And I wanted… I'd wanted you for so long, and you were finally there, for me to have and to hold and to love! I thought about telling you, so many times, there were so many moments when I came so close… But every time I opened my mouth, or went to draw back my sleeve, to be honest with you, I could picture your face, all pale and broken-hearted, and I couldn't, I just couldn't!" He fell silent, and Harry shifted, reaching up and grasping Draco's hand, twisting their fingers together.

"It's okay. I… I understand. I wouldn't have listened, I would've… I don't know. But I understand, now. I trust you." The words, to his ears, sounded hollow, and dead. Draco snorted.

"No you don't," he said weakly. "You fucking don't." Harry sighed. There was no good denying it.

"No," he agreed softly. "But I will, I think. Given time." This actually made Draco laugh, bitter and angry.

"Time?! What _time_, exactly?! Because _time_ is exactly what we don't have! A war is brewing! The Dark Lord is creating an army, with power enough to crush every muggleborn man, woman and child! He is going to attack! The world is going to fall into HELL unless we do something! We don't have TIME for you to trust me again, Harry!" Draco pushed himself off his chair, so that he was kneeling in front of Harry, his hands fisted desperately in the front of his robes. "I wanted to fight with you, Harry. I know you did too, that's why you joined Slytherin, isn't it?! You wanted us to be your army, to be on YOUR side! Not Voldemort's, not Dumbledore's – yours! And it would have worked; we would have beaten them down, and shown them no mercy! But there isn't TIME, Harry! Voldemort is ready NOW, he's ready and he's waiting, for the opportune moment to strike! Your little Slytherin dream, Harry… It's over. It's the Light side, or the Dark. There is no grey in between." Harry stared up at him, aghast.

_He's right, that is what I wanted, I wanted an army, I wanted to fight, on my own terms, for the people that I loved… But Voldemort's ready, he's ready, and I have to fight him! I have to kill him, I have to! But there's no time, to time to plan, to gather my followers… It was to be subtle, and slow building, like a tsunami that begins as a ripple, and ends as a crashing blow of water and death! But there's no time._ He licked his lips, once, nervous. "What must I do?" His voice cracked, and he could feel himself trembling. "What can I do?!" Draco smiled, a mirthless, despairing smile.

"You have to rejoin the Light side, Harry. Rejoin them, or die." Harry let out a shuddering breath, and leant forwards, tumbling slowly forwards into Draco's arms.

"What about you?" He whispered, clutching the back of Draco's robes. Draco just buried his face in Harry's neck, and made an awkward, shrugging movement. It only took Harry an instant to figure it out. "You can't!" He muttered thickly. "I won't let you." Draco chuckled.

"Foolish boy. Yours isn't the only house whose members have bravery burning in their hearts." He drew back slightly, staring into Harry's eyes, his tired face looking proud, determined. "I don't mind, Harry. It's… It's the right thing to do. I could never fight against you! Never. I… I love you. So completely. I don't know if you love me back, and I don't care. This could all be one of your Slytherin-type mind games, and I wouldn't care. I don't think it is though. You're too much of a Gryffindor for that. You're still a lion at heart, Harry, no matter how many Dark curses you learn, or masks you wear. It's that part of you I love, Harry, however illogical, however absurd it may seem. The brave, loyal, reckless, stupid hero-" He was cut off by Harry's mouth on his, and couldn't help but grin as he realised that the wetness on his face was Harry's tears. He pulled back, laughing breathlessly. "No need to cry about it, Potter." Harry laughed too, smiling helplessly, his eyes glistening.

_He… He loves me! He loves me helovesme. I am saved. He knows, he knows everything about me! He knows about Sirius, about the Dursleys, about my past – and still he loves me! Draco! _"Draco!" was all he could say, his body weak with delight, his heart pounding so heart he was sure it would burst. Draco laughed again, and pulled him back into an embrace, kissing the top of his head.

"It's okay, Harry. It's okay." He murmured, rubbing his back soothingly. Harry let himself be held, until he finally trusted himself to speak.

"Draco, I love you too, I do, honestly, I love you, and that's why you can't do this!" Draco frowned.

"What was it you told my House-Elf, Harry? Keep your goddamn orders to yourself." Harry hit him on the arm, glaring, his happiness drowning in a whirlpool of fear and guilt.

"Shut up! This isn't about ORDERS. You can't risk yourself for your goddamn PRIDE. For your, your, HONOUR! I thought the Malfoy's were all about self-preservation! It should be in your blood, Draco! The drive to fight for survival!" Draco scowled at him.

"I guess I'm an anomaly then. And this isn't about pride, or honour. This is about love, Harry. You would not have me die, you would not have me murdered, surely? I can't leave the Death Eaters, Harry. Once you take the mark, you're in for life. There's no escape, no buying your way out. Nothing. I can fight against you, be killed, or…" He trailed off, and looked pointedly at Harry, who was white with anger.

"You. Are. Not. Spying. For. Me." He hissed. "I will not let you risk it!" Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Harry wasn't finished. "I'll still love you, Draco," he babbled desperately. "I'll still love you if you're a Death Eater! If you fight for them, if you fight on their side, it's okay! I will love you, and I'll be fighting for you, and thinking of you, and-" Harry was expecting Draco to protest. To put up a fight, to yell, to glare… He just wasn't expecting the man he loved to punch him in the face.

His head snapped back, and he scrambled away from Draco, clambering to his feet. He touched a hand gingerly to his lip, and hissed in pain. "What the fuck?!" Blood spat when he talked, and Draco had the good grace to look sorry underneath his mask of indignant, incandescent rage.

"I will NEVER fight for that SICK, MURERING MADMAN! How could you SAY that, Harry! How could you SAY that of me?! You want me to what, murder innocent people?! Kill innocent wizards, kill their wives, their CHILDREN?! IS THAT WHAT YOU FUCKING THINK I AM!? AN EVIL, TWISTED, CHILD-KILLER?!" Harry shook his head wordlessly, and turned around, unable to face Draco properly.

"I just want you to be safe." He whispered, shame washing through him, hot and desperate. "At any cost." Draco sighed, and wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his forehead between Harry's shoulder-blades.

"No you don't. And I don't either. If I came back to you, when this was all over, with my hands stained in innocent blood… It would tear us apart, Harry. You know this. And you know that I can't fight for them, because someone on your side would kill me in the end. And that would destroy you, Harry! And it would destroy the Light. If your side isn't standing strong, _together,_ it will fall. You would all be killed. You would lose." Harry's previously tense shoulders slumped and he sighed in defeat.

"It's a no-win situation, isn't it?" he muttered. Draco sighed, and spun him round, so they were face-to-face.

"I don't believe in no-win situations Harry. We just have to be clever about this, and stay one step ahead. It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay. I promise." Harry nodded slowly, and drew Draco into a hug, trying desperately to ignore the echoes of '_that's just what Sirius said, what my parents would have said, what Dumbledore said, promising to stay by my side, what they all said, promising to love me, to look after me, to stay with me, they lied they lied they lied'_ that drifted through his head, and think only of Draco, and how warm and solid and _real_ he was, how real and safe and here.

-----

Things changed, after that. Draco and Harry spent the days together, always together, always touching, always close, wandering the corridors much like they had before Christmas. They found themselves absorbed into a routine of simplicity, of meaningful looks, and touches that turned into something more, into messages, almost, messages that whispered of love and protection and desperation. The days blurred past, until it was New Years Eve. Tomorrow, they would be returning to Hogwarts, and for the first time in his life, Harry wasn't looking forward to it, because for once, he wasn't going _home_. He was instead leaving behind everything he loved. Tomorrow, everything would end.

Harry glanced sideways, brought out of his desolate thoughts as Draco squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You're thinking about it again. Stop it." Harry scowled at him, but chose to otherwise ignore the statement. He looked away, out of the long windows that they were walking past. From here, they had a view of the front lawn, snow-covered, smudged with orange and pink from the sunset. A row of fountains stood frozen in mid-spray, glittering yellow, white, ruby-red, shining like fiery diamonds from the centre of the Earth. Harry let out a soft sigh, and smiled.

"I like your house, Draco." Draco snorted and muttered something about it being a 'mansion, not a goddamn _house_' but Harry ignored him. "Here, normality and abnormality, insanity and stark-white sanity seem to go perfectly, hand-in-hand." Draco nodded solemnly, before looking down at their own entwined fingers and raising one elegant eyebrow.

"Apparently as do we," he drawled, making Harry laugh. Draco grinned. "Come on. Let's go outside. I've got a surprise for you." Harry blinked, wavered for a second between delighted and suspicious, and settled on happily curious.

"What is it?" Draco waved his free hand in a 'Never You Mind, Potter' sort of gesture and shook his head.

"Ahh, wait and see! It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?!"

Harry soon found himself trekking trough the snow-covered rose garden, enchanted flowers still blooming brightly in the twilight. "Draco!" He whined. "I'm _cold_! You should've let me get a jumper…" Draco laughed and unfastened his cloak, swinging it around Harry's shoulders.

"Here, have this and stop complaining! If I'd let you go to get a jumper, you would no doubt have returned with some hideous _Weasley_ creation that would have rendered me both blind, and mute. Maybe even deaf as well. I was understandably unwilling to take that risk. I need my eyes, you see. They allow me to gaze upon the vision that is your lovely self!" Harry hit him playfully on the arm and laughed.

"Oh, shut up. Aren't you cold?" Harry eyes Draco's dark blue robes speculatively. "Silk isn't exactly the warmest of fabrics, is it?" Draco shrugged.

"What can I say? We Malfoys, we pay for the best, you know… Sewn in Heating Charms? Heard of those?" Harry shook his head and laughed.

"Nah, I'm too common. I just wear jumpers like normal people." He could actually _see_ the effort it took Draco not to say the words 'Like A Normal Muggle', and grinned. "It's okay, you can say it! There's no point looking stupid when you've got magic to solve all these little problems!" Draco laughed.

"Finally, you see sense!" Harry nodded, and hooked his arm around Draco's elbow, drawing him closer as they walked.

"I just wish… I just wish magic could fix all the big problems too." Draco, sensing the change in mood, stopped walking, and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"Is this about tomorrow? Because I swear, we can find a way to see each other. This isn't goodbye, Harry!" Harry placed his hands behind Draco's neck, stroking his soft, silky hair.

"Yeah it is. But I wasn't talking about that. I was… Look, when I was a child, the Dursley's wouldn't give me toys or books or anything. Certainly no one ever told me a bedtime story. So, the first time I ever read a book was when I was four years old. It had fallen out of an older girl's book-bag, so I picked it up, put it in my jumper, and took it home. I guess it must have been accidental magic, because I could understand every single word. I don't remember it all, but there was a princess and a knight on a white horse, and a dragon. And the knight was in love with princess, but he had to kill the dragon to be with her. And it was so _simple_. He went to see a witch, and she gave him magic spells, and he used the magic spells to save the princess. The dragon didn't stand a chance! I so wanted it to be real, the magic. But of course, Uncle Vernon took every opportunity possible to remind me that there was no such thing as magic." He paused, remembering those days, of shouting, hitting, wishing things could be different.

"I so wanted it to be real," He whispered. "I wanted to be able to magic myself away, to some far off country where things like dragons and fairy's and enchantments were commonplace. And then on my eleventh birthday… It all came true. I was a wizard. I was so happy, Draco. I thought… I thought this was my dreams all coming true. It only lasted until that evening. Hagrid, he told me about my parents. About the evil wizard who killed them. He told me about bad magic, Dark magic. I hadn't thought… I hadn't thought that the bad people would be able to do magic too." Draco drew him into a hug, and sighed.

"Come on, Harry. We aren't there yet." They resumed walking, Harry trailing forlornly by Draco's side. "Look, there may be bad magic. Evil magic. Dark magic. But there's still the good parts! The good spells, that let Healers make dying people live. The spells that bring light, and warmth and comfort. Happiness. It's not all bad, Harry! Don't give up on us!" Harry smiled wryly, and tightened his arm around Draco's waist. "In fact," said Draco, suddenly standing still in front of one of the fountains that was carved too look like a flood of roses and lilies and stars, all streaming out of the trident of a mermaid, "I think I'll show you."

He took one of Harry's hands in his, and pointed his wand at the sky with the other. "_Lumina Flacari_!"

A thousand bright bursts of light spread across the sky, glittering explosions of violet, showers of dazzling gold, spirals of bright emerald, jagged lines of neon-orange, flashing waves of blue. Harry's mouth fell open in shock. "Fireworks?!" He exclaimed, still staring at the sky. Draco laughed, a deep, warm laugh, and tipped his head forward, so that he was staring into Draco's eyes.

"Surprise," the Slytherin whispered. Harry grinned, and opened his mouth to say something, anything, _thankyou, iloveyou, I'llmissyou, _when he heard it.

Bells.

Deep, old-sounding bells, as though from the dark places of underground.

_One_

He blinked, his vision blurring.

_Two_

Draco was saying something, but it was muffled and distant, and Harry could do nothing but stare.

_Three_

Hands were on his shoulders, shaking him roughly.

_Four_

His head was pounding, everything hurt…

_Five_

Ohgod! It felt like he was dying, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe it hurt-

_Six_

He was on fire, he had to be, the fire had fallen from the sky and was eating him up, from inside out-

_Seven_

His mouth was moving, ohgod, his mouth was opening, his throat was being torn apart, words spitting themselves free in a spray of blood and malice-

_Eight_

"Draco Malfoy". The voice was high and somehow it was making Harry laugh, except that wasn't him laughing, it was-

_Nine_

It was this feeling, it'd happened before, he's been burnt up from inside, burning in the presence of such malicious evil-

_Ten_

He was here, Voldemort, in his body, in his mind, in his thoughts, his heart, his eyes, everything, everything-

_Eleven_

He would know everything! He'd been listening to every conversation, saw every smile, felt every meaningful touch!

_Twelve_

Harry's heart shattered. He'd betrayed Draco, betrayed him to his death!

_Thirteen_

Voldemort raised Harry's hand, smiled with Harry's mouth, and pointed Harry's wand at Draco's heart.

"CRUCIO!"

**Authors Note: **

Next Chapter – Nightswimming

Thank-you to Ellesra and Iron Woman for your reviews!

Oh, and if you're wondering, Lumina Flacari is based on an approximate Romanian translation of 'flames of light'.


	15. Nightswimming

**Disclaimer: **Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary: **Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU. After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Nightswimming**

_DRACO!_

Draco screamed at the torture-curse shattered his world into a blinding inferno of white-hot pain. He writhed and twisted, his fingers scrabbling helplessly at himself trying to stop the pain, somehow, somehow, but succeeding only in clawing bloody gouges into his forearms, his torso, his face. His feet kicked wildly, heels gouging deep into the snow that was rapidly turning into a slushy mess of pink, crimson blood smeared into the glittering white. He convulsed, letting out a crazed howl of pain as the blood vessels in his eyes popped in an explosion of red and black and pain. There was blood spraying out of his mouth in torrents of thick, dark red, where he'd bitten through his cheeks and tongue. His screams were becoming muffled, thick, gurgling, and Harry realised, with a dim thrill of horror, that Draco was drowning in his own blood.

_STOP IT, STOP IT! I'LL DO ANYTHING, ANYTHING YOU ASK! DON'T KILL HIM, PLEASE OHGOD PLEASE DON'T KILL HIM!_

Voldemort just laughed, using Harry's mouth to sneer at Draco's twitching, broken body, dying on his own front lawn, Harry's hand pointing his wand steadily at Draco, the curse spiralling out of him in an invisible flood of malice and fiery evil. Harry, trapped in his own head, was screaming too, screaming and fighting, fighting desperately, ignoring the burning pain that was spreading through his own body, rendering him helpless, choosing instead to think only of Draco, his friend, his lover, his one-and-only, who was dying at his feet.

Eventually, Draco's cries quietened, into tiny whimpers, bloody bubbles forming around his mouth, his eyes unfocused and bloody. His fingers frantic scrabbling had stopped – now they were just twitching sporadically in the muddy-slush that was soaked into his robes, dripping off his hair. _STOP, pleaseplease, he's had enough! He's learnt his lesson, I swear! Let him go! LET HIM GO!_ Voldemort just laughed, and held the curse out, a tsunami of pain, crushing Draco until his pitiable moans were silenced, and his mouth was hanging open in a last, muted scream, blood staining his teeth, his eyes staring unseeing and blackened at the sky. Voldemort stepped closer, and in his head, Harry fell to his knees. _No. Nonononono. He's not, he's not… He can't be! Draco! DRACO! Wake up! Wake up, Draco! Draco! _He looked on, aghast, numb with grief, as the Dark Lord spat on Draco's face, saliva dripping down one cheek, a rancid, mocking tear.

"Like father like son! I always knew the Malfoy's were fools." His voice was high and scornful, but Harry wasn't listening. "Potter! POTTER!" Harry swam blearily back into focus, and squinting through the blinding pain, he listened long enough to hear Voldemort say "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, Potter!" and then he was gone, falling slowly down into the crushing black darkness that was all that was left of his shattered mind.

_Wakey Wakey, Potter! _His eyes snapped open, and he found he was looking at the mask of a Death Eater. His mind whirling, he stared blearily onwards, as Voldemort forced his eyes too look downwards. His arm was being held tightly by two Death Eaters, forearm white and smooth in the moonlight. He saw his other hand press the tip of his wand into his skin, but felt nothing. His mouth moved, words once again being ripped out of him, and he screamed, convulsing as a bolt of pain shot through him.

He stayed there, drifting on a wave of pain, not thinking, not listening to Voldemort, even though the Dark Lord seemed to want him to see what was happening – seemed to find the idea of Harry watching himself kill those he loved _amusing_ or something. _Sick bastard. _The thought reverberated suddenly, loudly, through his otherwise unoccupied consciousness, and Voldemort laughed – and spoke, suddenly close, in Harry's head with him. _**Hiding, are you Potter? That's not very Gryffindor of you, is it? Although,**_here, his voice became almost insufferably smug, sending bolts of pain through Harry's heart, _**I always said you belonged in Slytherin! If I'd have known all it would take for you to roll over and play dead was one, simple, Imperio… This could have been over long ago!**_

Suddenly, Harry's attention was caught. _I…Imperio?! This isn't…_ Voldemort chuckled nastily.

_**Foolish boy! No, this is true possession! I speak of that night… Your birthday, wasn't it Potter?! Bellatrix always DID have the most WONDERFUL sense of humour!**_ His voice was high and gleeful, like an overgrown, sadistic child. Harry flinched, a sudden heaviness of foreboding creeping over him.

_Wh…What?! That was… That wasn't… _Voldemort was laughing again, laughing and laughing, triumphant.

_**I find I don't mind telling you, now you're trapped, suffocating to death in your own head! Bellatrix paid you a little visit – don't you remember-**_

_Remember._

_Remember._

_I… I remember… She… She cursed me, I… I couldn't fight it, I… It was an Imperius! It wasn't me! It wasn't… Ohgod. Oh, oh god. Draco was right, The Dursley's, I didn't-_

_**Of course you didn't!**_ Voldemort snorted derisively, _**But you did half her work for her, Potter! Crouch told me your resistance to Imperius was unbreakable! But then you went and weakened your mental barriers, letting her wander on in-**_

_I what?! Weakened- Oh. Oh god. When I… Oh, my god. When I Mind-Fade, it breaks my shields?! _If Harry had been in control of his body, he would have hit something. The fury was rising up inside him, full-blooded rage, directed at himself. _YOU FUCKING IDIOT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT! YOU SHOULDV'E KNOWN BETTER, YOU STUPID, STUPID CHILD!_ This seemed to amuse Voldemort somehow, which just enraged Harry further, and he screamed, loudly, the yell echoing painfully around his head.

_**That's enough, I think, Potter. Wouldn't do for you to know all my lovely plans, would it? Time to go to sleep now, Potter… Go to sleep…**_Instead of the previous, almost peaceful descent into blackness, it felt to Harry like being shoved hard in the chest, and stepping backwards only to find that the ground has given way beneath you. He let out a yell of surprise, which turned quickly into a whimper of pain as he felt himself being crushed, shoved away into the furthest, darkest recess of his mind. His consciousness faded, and the world went black.

Everything stayed dark for what felt like years, but was probably only a few hours, until the sudden, squeezing sensation of someone Apparating his body made Harry jerk awake in surprise. When the world finally stopped spinning, Harry could only vaguely make out a pair of large, golden gates through the heavily falling rain, but they seemed familiar… A nearby Death Eater reached out and touched the gates – and was sent spinning backwards in a whirl of bright blue magic. Voldemort laughed, and Harry watched in horror, as Voldemort reached out with Harry's thin, pale hand, and pushed open the gates, stepping through unhindered. _No! NO! GET OUT, GET OUT! I WILL NOT BRING YOU HERE! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!_ Voldemort didn't seem to even hear Harry's desperate yells, and simply strode on through the darkness, Draco's now-filthy cloak still draped around his shoulders.

Eventually, Hogwarts loomed closer, vast and seemingly-impenetrable in the gloom. They paused in front of the heavy oak doors, and Harry flinched in pain as Voldemort spoke into his mind, a hissing whisper in his ear. _**And here we are, Potter! You're going to let me into the castle, and then you're going to kill Dumbledore, kill your teachers, your friends, your friends brothers and sisters, people's children! And then, Potter, they're going to kill you!**_ Still laughing, he pushed the doors open with Harry's hand, and strode through the Entrance Hall, and burst through the doors into the Great Hall.

A jagged streak of lightning crackled across the enchanted ceiling, and with a quick non-verbal spell, the rain that had been a mere image was pouring down onto the students in freezing torrents. The candles were extinguished almost instantaneously, leaving the room in darkness. Harry could dimly see Dumbledore leaping to his feet – but when he spoke, he sounded more weary than alert. "Harry?"

A chuckle, high and cold, so different from the laughter that had echoed menacingly around the Great Hall the last time he'd arrived, so different from anything human, anything mortal. Harry could see the moment Dumbledore realised his mistake, shock flashing through his usually-twinkling eyes. A gesture, someone disappearing in a flurry of robes, and his own treacherous legs carrying him forwards, his arm raising his wand, his voice, loud and high and cold and _wrong_,

"I AM HARRY POTTER! AND THIS IS THE END!" Another laugh, the sounds of people screaming, crying, the smell of _fear_, and-

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry screamed as Albus Dumbledore's mouth dropped open in disbelief, and the violent-green light of the Killing Curse lit up the room, bathing every face in a sickly cast of terror, and the voice in his head laughed and laughed and laughed.

_**Welcome to hell, Harry Potter! Welcome to hell!**_

**Authors Note: **

Next Chapter – Rogue Elements

Sorry it's so short! The next one should be longer.

Just in case: _these are Harry's thoughts_, and _**these are Voldemort's thoughts**_.

Thank-you to Ellesra, Baka-san and Iron Woman for your reviews!


	16. Rogue Elements

**Disclaimer:**Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary:**Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU. After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Rogue Elements**

_Somebody's screaming…_

_I can't see who._

_I can't see at all._

_That blinding flare of green has burnt out my eyes._

_All I can see is death._

_All I can hear are screams… _

_Draco…_

With a sudden surge of determination, Harry forced himself back into focus, scrabbling desperately back from the abyss of memories triggered by those cursed words, by that inferno of devil's light. The haze of green cleared slowly, and Harry realized, with a restrained shriek of elation, that Dumbledore really _was _invincible – that he remained standing, unharmed!

_How?!_ His jubilant thoughts of disbelief were closely echoed by Voldemort's own enraged snarls.

"How is it, Albus Dumbledore, that you remain standing while mortal men fall?!" He hissed, Harry's possessed eyes glowing scarlet with anger. "Perhaps your soul is not as Light as you would have the world believe!" Dumbledore shook his head sadly, and raised a gnarled, blackened hand on which a chunky silver ring could be seen, even in the gloom.

"How is it, Tom," Dumbledore countered softly, "that you remain so ignorant of all that is good? Is your own soul so irreparably damaged – as I had feared?" Voldemort let out a roar of rage, and brandished Harry's wand angrily.

"Enough! Enough of this talk of _souls_ and _goodness_! I shall curse you into oblivion, and what good will your Light be then?! The world will fall into my outstretched hand, Dumbledore, and you can do nothing to stop me!" There was a pause, in which Harry's body breathed heavily, and a student let out a muted scream, and collapsed onto the floor in terror. Voldemort laughed, and drew back Harry's arm. "_Confringo_!" he cried, and flung the curse at Dumbledore. The Headmaster instantly raised a shield, gold and shining, and Voldemort's curse shattered across the surface of it, shards of black fire falling, dying, to the floor.

"I will not fight you, Tom." Dumbledore's face was stern and cold. "Not when you are too much of a coward to even use your own magic to fight with." Harry felt a sudden rush of emotion, suffocating and red, clouding his vision. Not anger, though. No. This was _shame_. He giggled soundlessly.

_Ahaha. Too much of a weakling half-blood to even use your own magic against the great Albus Dumbledore?_ He taunted, relishing the sudden burn of adrenaline, his muscles taught and expectant, wand still clenched in a white-knuckled fist.

_**Do not speak! **_Voldemort commanded, spitting with rage even inside Harry's head. "I may be using his magic, Dumbledore, but that just proves I'm all the stronger! If I can take you down, make you scream, wither and die, with the pitiful shreds of power in the possession of an adolescent boy… Then surely, Dumbledore, I must be some sort of a GOD!" Dumbledore remained impassive, and Voldemort laughed, a painful, screeching sound. "Enough! Enough – I care not if you choose not to fight! My Death Eaters are _thirsting _for it! Go, fight, fight and feast and SPARE NO ONE!"

For a moment, Harry thought that Voldemort had actually gone mad – the Death Eaters were still stuck outside the gates! Voldemort chuckled, slow and sly inside his head. _**Did you really think I was that reckless, Potter? That I would go charging in, with no support? No PLAN? I'm a Slytherin, Potter. I'm not **_**you**_**! **_And sure enough, as Harry watched, the black flames of the Confringo curse reared up, taking the shape of cloaked men, wands out, masks on. The Death Eaters were here.

Dumbledore's expression sharpened, and his grasp on his wand tightened, but he was otherwise the very picture of calm. "Professors! I must ask of you now to fulfill that most sacred of oaths! I had hoped this day would never come, but…" He trailed off, words falling pointlessly into the abyss of noise – screams and curses echoing as the Death Eaters began their attack. From deep inside his own head, Harry floundered helplessly, staring in horror as McGonagall screeched commands at her seventh years – at Ron, Hermione, people he had _known_, people he had… Had… _**Betrayed? That's the word you're looking for, isn't it, Harry Potter? You left them, to fulfill your own selfish desires…**_ Harry snarled, relishing that familiar burn of anger that had been so smothered through these past months.

_I didn't! I didn't leave them! _His protests, however, quickly faded into silent despair as the world jarred and flickered nonsensically, his heartbeat jumping, erratic, as Voldemort reached into him, into his magic, and sent it burning across the room. The Death Eaters were hurling curses too, seemingly at random and Harry could hear people screaming. There was Flitwick's squeaky soprano, protesting in pain and desperation, and McGonagall's answering screech of fury as a hooded figure bore down on her, wand in hand. His friends, too. He could see Ginny, passed out, blood pooling around her head. Hermione was shrieking instructions that nobody seemed to hear, and Ron… Ron was yelling, his anger and fear blinding him from the complexities of battle. _RON! STOP IT, YOU FOOL! FOCUS, HOW MANY TIMES DID I TELL YOU?! FOCUS!_

And there, there was little Colin Creevy, reaching out towards Harry, his shrill voice piping high and clear above Voldemort's malicious glee. "Harry! Harry, it's okay, we'll fight for you, Harry! We're here for you, I-"

Silence.

"Foolish boy!" Voldemort cackled, and turned his sickening joy on Harry, who was left curled up and speechless in his mind. _**You see now, Potter? You see what they have become, your precious DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY?! You, their leader, you left them, and they've fallen to pieces! Face it, Harry Potter! You betrayed them all, to their deaths! **_

_No, no, I didn't… I didn't realize! _Even to his own ears, Harry's excuses sounded weak. Voldemort just laughed, mocking, derisive.

_**Of course you did! How could you not?! You're the SAVIOUR OF THE WORLD! Your Gryffindors needed you!**_

_No! They didn't need ME, they had Dumbledore! And McGonagall, Ron, Hermione, and-_

_**Yes, Potter, but they didn't have YOU. Because you chose Slytherin, just like I always knew you would! We're too alike, you and I! Too alike for you to have been anything but a snake!**_

_You're wrong! _His denial was hollow, and tasted like shame. Because really, Voldemort was right. He was right, Harry was wrong, and everyone was going to die. Voldemort chuckled, soft and sly.

_**Really? Tell me, Potter, did you or did you not leave Gryffindor House just to get what you wanted?**_

_I… No, it was… I had to do it! I had to! _

_**Face it, Harry Potter! You're Slytherin to the core! Driven by ambition, desperation, a thirst for revenge! A DESIRE to stay alive!**_

_It wasn't all for that… Not all of it… I… Maybe to start with, but I stayed with them, I stayed for… For…_

_**For what, Potter? **_Voldemort's voice was incredulous, screeching, grating against Harry's nerves. _**For LOVE?! **_He burst into a torrent of crazed, hysterical laughter, and Harry's mind reeled, plunged back into memories of falling glass, brains and bloodied laughter going on and on and on… Harry let out a strangled whimper, and felt himself begin to fall backwards, _justlikeSirius,_ backwards into the darkness of his own mind, because it didn't matter,

_Doesn't matter anymore, because he's dead, he's dead and everyone's dying and there's no one left to save… _

It was just then, just as Harry had let go of all hope and was fading into a mere memory of despair, that the one voice he longed to hear more than any other cried out in pain.

"HARRY! STOP!"

**Authors Note:**

Next Chapter – Elixir

Okay, I'm so sorry that I abandoned this for… well, months. I have been kind of busy, but I'll try to get this finished as soon as I can. I think there's only going to be around 20 chapters, so it's nearly there.


	17. Elixir

**Disclaimer:** Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary:** Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU. After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Elixir**

_It was just then, just as Harry had let go of all hope and was fading into a mere memory of despair, that the one voice he longed to hear more than any other cried out in pain._

"_HARRY! STOP!"_

Harry looked up, dazed, and managed to catch a glimpse of horrified silver eyes before Voldemort dashed Harry's glasses from his face and turned the world into a murky soup of colour. Harry laughed, not caring that he could no longer see, not caring that Voldemort once again had Harry's wand pointed directly at the smudge of gold and silver and _love_ that Harry was sure was him, because it just _had_ to be. _That… That was…_ Harry felt his heart leap in his chest, a painful glow of hope making his hands shake. He could feel his face breaking into a smile, as he chanted softly to himself, _Draco, Draco, Draco, _and felt Voldemort's icy grip begin to weaken and fade.

Voldemort snarled, writhed, and howled, _**POTTER! YOU FOOL! AS IF IT COULD BE HIM, YOU KILLED HIM, REMEMBER?! YOU KILLED HIM, IT'S OVER! JUST GIVE UP! **_It was Harry's turn to laugh.

_No… You TRIED to kill him. But… But we all know what happens when YOU try to kill someone, don't we, Tom? _He could feel his insides burning with hope, joy, delicious expectation, as he deliberately dropped his wand, raised a hand to his head, and cried, "GET OUT, SNAKE! GET OUT!" He could hear the Great Hall exploding with renewed bursts of noise – cheering, baying, Gryffindor First-Years casting the Jelly-Legs Jinx with as much ferocity as their eleven-year-old hearts could muster. And there, again, Draco's voice, calling as he cut his way through the Death Eaters, reaching for him.

"Harry! Harry, I'm here! I'm not dead! Wake up! You have to wake up!" Harry nodded, and buried his face in his hands, feeling his heartbeat race, his blood burning with anger and desire.

_Getoutgetoutgetout… I'm me, I'm Harry, there's no room for you! Get out of my mindbodyheart, GET OUT!_

Silence.

Sudden and deafening in the absence of battle.

Harry could dimly hear his own breathing, ragged and desperate – and under his own control. He let his hands fall, and raised his head slowly. The Great Hall was a mess. The tapestries were torn, the House tables overturned, and the candles were a crumbled smear of wax under the student's boots. He slowly bent down and picked up his wand, and, using the memory of Voldemort's spell, cast the counter. The enchanted rain stopped pouring, and Draco, catching on, replenished the candles, bathing the war-torn room with a soft, golden glow. Harry looked around absently for his glasses, and jumped as someone pressed them into his hand. "Watch yourself, Potter."

Draco's voice was thick and hoarse, but it was unmistakeably his. Harry shoved his glasses onto his face, and took a breath, still looking at the floor. Slowly, slowly, as though savouring the moment, he raised his head. His eyes travelled up, over Draco's slender neck, his slightly pointed chin, dusted with white-gold stubble. His lips, soft and pink, were stretching irresistibly into a glimmering smile of reassurance and joy. There, his upturned, aristocratic nose, his cheeks, ashen with fatigue, and his eyes. Framed by pale locks of hair, dishevelled for once, Draco's eyes were glimmering, welling with tears and pride, lustrous in the candlelight. "Harry."

Harry could feel himself give in, and quickly, silently, stepped forwards, winding his arms around Draco's waist, drawing him close, closer, not close enough. He buried his face in the taller boys shoulder, and let out a breath, that caught, hitched, laden with tears he was too proud to let spill. "Draco." He whispered eventually. "Draco."

Malfoy simply hugged Harry back, rested his cheek on Harry's hair, and closed his eyes. Some moments were too precious, too delicate, to disgrace with clumsy words. Unfortunately, Gryffindors did not seem to share that sentiment.

"Harry! HARRY!" Draco heaved a sigh of irritation.

"Oh Merlin… Here comes the lion brigade. Arm yourself Potter! They come with Weasleys and scoldings and _tears_ and probably a one-way ticket to the Hospital Wing…" He felt Harry chuckle tiredly against his chest, and hugged him tighter, just for a moment. "Well, it's too bad, Potter. I've fought tooth and nail to find you. There's no way in hell I'll give you up. Not now." Harry smiled and straightened up, smoothing Draco's hair back into place, just as the wave of scarlet-and-gold reached them, students a surging crest of questions, all clamouring their support, their hopes, their fears. Harry took a step back, and blinking, searched the crowd for a familiar face. He soon found it, pale and freckled, and beaming. "Ron!" He muttered, too tired to speak properly. Ron seemed to hear him, anyway, and elbowed his way through to the front of the crowd. Surprisingly, he did not tear Harry away from Draco's protective embrace. Instead, he stood, awkwardly, his ears turning red, and looked at the floor.

"Erm. Malfoy. I… He's… Harry you're my… We're… Please…" Harry extracted himself from Draco's arms and staggered forwards, ignoring the raging headache that was slowly building behind his eyes.

"Ron." Ron made a noise like a suffocating Kneazle, and Harry found himself in the second bone-crushing embrace in the space of two minutes.

"I don't care if you're a Slytherin, Harry!" Ron's voice was too-loud and made Harry's head spin, but to him, it was more welcome than a thousand bottles of Dreamless Sleep. "We're still best friends, okay? For ever, whatever happens, who… Whoever wins, I'm on your side!"

"Yeah Harry!" _Hermione…_ "We both are!" Harry grunted as he felt Hermione crash into them, wrapping her arms around both boys. Harry could hear Draco laughing tiredly, and muttering something about the _Golden Trio_. He grinned, and extracted himself slowly and painfully from the group hug.

"Thanks, guys… I… I'm sorry that I left… Wait, no. I'm not sorry I left, because it was the right thing to do. I'm just… I'm sorry I left you without anyone to take my place. It was too sudden, and I didn't explain, didn't… Didn't have a plan. Well, I did, I just… I didn't tell anyone, and it didn't work anyway, and…" Draco interrupted with a polite cough.

"Harry, you just did it the Gryffindor way, that's all. You're heart is equal parts red and green, lion and snake. It's just the way you are. So stop apologising. We… I think I can speak for all three of us when I say, we love you anyway, Harry Potter, no matter which house you're in." Harry smiled, almost painfully, and opened his mouth to reply. But before he could speak, Ron let out a snort of disbelief, and started to laugh.

"Love? You LOVE him?! I don't believe this! FIVE YEARS we stood by Harry! We were there for him, through EVERYTHING! When he rescued the Philosopher's Stone, when he fought the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets – that was all with us! We helped him rescue Sirius, and when he was in the Triwizard Tournament, we were on HIS SIDE! AND LAST YEAR, WHO WAS THERE?! WHO WAS THERE, AT THE MINISTRY?! BECAUSE YOUR FATHER MIGHT'VE BEEN THERE, MALFOY, BUT I DON'T REMEMBER SEEING Y-" Ron broke off as Malfoy's fist collided with the side of his head, and sent him sprawling to the floor. Hermione let out a shriek of surprise and knelt down beside Ron. Harry rolled his eyes and squeezed Draco's shoulder.

"Just ignore him, Draco." Ron sat up, spluttering indignantly.

"Harry! I said I'd be your friend, no matter what, but this is ridiculous! How can you choose him over us?! You've only been in his house for what, a few months?! And already you think he's a better friend?! That's out of order, mate!" Ron's voice cracked, and he scrambled awkwardly to his feet, Hermione clutching desperately to his arm.

"Ron… I think you've got the wrong idea, actually. I don't love Draco like I love you guys." Draco laughed, slightly, as Ron puffed out his chest, suddenly proud.

"Yeah, 'cos we're you're BEST friends, right?" Harry hid a smile and nodded solemnly.

"Sure. You guys are my best friends. So, uh, it is a bit different." Ron grinned, and Harry continued, "Because I sure as hell don't want to fuck _you_." Draco chose that moment to slip his arms around Harry from behind, and place a chaste kiss on his cheek, levelling Weasley with a smouldering, Stay-Away-From-My-Boyfriend-Or-Die look. Weasley turned white. Then red, then a strange shade of puce. Before he could react, Dumbledore swept in, and took Harry by the hand.

"Harry, my boy!" His eyes were twinkling, as usual, but to Harry it seemed rather more forced than usual.

"Headmaster." He muttered. "Can… Can I help you?" Dumbledore nodded and patted the back of Harry's hand.

"Indeed. I must ask you to join me in my office. Professor Snape is already waiting. The three of us have many things we must discuss." Harry's face twisted in surprise and slight disgust.

"I'm sorry, sir, but… What can I possibly have to discuss with the two of you?! Snape already thinks I'm a weak little-"

"Professor Snape, Harry." Strangely enough, the usual rebuke came not from Dumbledore, but from Draco. Harry turned around, and frowned. "He saved my life, Harry. When he saw you arrive without me, he came straight to Malfoy manor. The Cruciatus curse can, obviously, kill people, but it's a slow death. Professor Snape was able to resuscitate me, and prevent any long-term nerve damage. He even gave me an adrenaline elixir, so I could come charging in here and save YOU. So… Show him some respect, Harry, for my sake. Please?" Harry blinked, stunned.

"I… Of course. Sorry, sir. Shall we?" Dumbledore nodded, and extended an arm. Harry declined, gracefully, and conjured up his Black cane.

"About time I put this thing to good use!" He muttered, with forced cheerfulness. Dumbledore chuckled, and gestured towards the doors.

"Quite right, my boy. Quite right."

Draco watched the two of them leave, a look of longing on his face. He hadn't needed to be told to stay behind. Potter and Dumbledore would always have their secret, mysterious chats about the world, he could tell. It was just One of Those Things. Just like Weasley and Granger would always be waiting around the corner to scold and to judge, in the most loving way they knew. He turned to face the Gryffindors, his face plastered with its usual insufferably smug look, and grinned. "So. Weasley, Granger. No hard feelings?"

The look on Weasley's face would remain one of Draco's Happiest Moments for years to come, he was sure.

**Authors Note:**

Next Chapter – Avada Kedavra

As said by my wise reviewer, RhythmDia, a good cliff-hanger means I should endeavour to update all the faster… So I have!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter – a little bit of happy/fluffy goodness in amongst all the angst (:

Reviews would be much appreciated!


	18. Avada Kedavra

**Disclaimer:** Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary:** Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU. After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Avada Kedavra**

It was nearly dinner time on New Year's Day when Harry finally made it back to the Great Hall. To Draco's surprise, he was smiling softly. Draco rose to his feet and walked slowly across the swiftly-repaired Hall, but before he reached him, Harry had turned towards the staff table and jogged up the dais steps. Draco stopped, wrong-footed and unwilling to intrude. He was about to return to his table, when he was interrupted by a soft hum from his left. Luna Lovegood. He frowned at her. "Can I help you?" Lovegood smiled at him, peaceable.

"The question, Draco Malfoy, is can you help him?" Draco didn't need to guess who she was talking about. He glared at her, annoyed by her impudence.

"Excuse me, but you and I are not acquainted. I find your questions improper and choose not to answer." Luna blinked and her smile widened.

"Ah. I thought so. Congratulations, Draco Malfoy. I'm happy for you both." Draco watched, bewildered, as she turned and wandered over to the Gryffindor table, sitting calmly next to Neville Longbottom. He shook his head and turned back to Harry. There was a battle to be planned.

Eventually, the students who had returned to Hogwarts for the New Year's celebrations were sent home, leaving only a handful of Sixth and Seventh years and the teachers. The Great Hall seemed unusually large and, Draco noticed with a shiver, unusually empty. As soon as Hagrid returned from escorting the students to safety, Harry made a slight gesture to Dumbledore, who nodded back and hurried off to speak to Snape. Harry turned back to Draco and smiled. "Go on. Ask." Draco grinned.

"Alright, I will. What did you and Dumbledore talk about that made you happy?" Harry blinked and shrugged, looking down at his hands.

"I asked him why he thought I'd fight for him after he accused me of murder." Draco frowned.

"And that made you happy? He must have had one hell of an excuse!" Harry laughed quietly.

"He called me 'my boy'. I yelled at him, so he called me Lord Potter-Black and told me he was sorry." Harry fell silent and seemed in danger of losing himself in his memories. Draco elbowed him gently.

"Sorry? What for?"

"For treating me badly. For losing faith in his hand-picked saviour. For destroying my Gryffindor heart. For… For letting me down. For failing me. For failing my parents." Harry sighed. "After that… He told me I was like the grandson he never had. And before all this… He was… He was the closest thing I ever had to a grandfather so… I forgave him. And it made me happy, Draco. We aren't exactly friends again, but we're going to fight in this war together. He won't let me down again, Draco."

The moon had risen high over the castle, silver light filtering in through the newly mended windows. Draco Malfoy placed a hand against the glass, his fingertips tracing the diamond-shaped lead cames. The world outside was quiet and still enough; the grass was a silent expanse in the darkness, broken only by the strange undulation of fireflies and the swift silver dart of a hare, and the sky stayed calm, blue-back and cloudless. Draco idly watched a thestral rise from the canopy of the forest, an oversized bird of prey, the moonlight seeming to roll off its ghostly wings in waves. He heard someone approaching, felt them sit next to him, wriggling slightly against the cold stone of the windowseat. They sat in silence, watching the moon, watching and – though neither of them would admit it – waiting for the sudden volley of curses that is sure to come, for the burnt orange glow of the shields as they crumble, for the smell of burning and the screams as Hogwarts is taken... A wolf howled in the forest, and Harry sighed, gripped Draco's free hand. They are not watching for the future, now. Their silent vigil has become about the past – the memories not the dreams. For a moment the glimmer of moonlight on the Black Lake comes alive; it is faces and lonely figures, his father, Harry's mother, the convicted Sirius Black, echoes of the Azkaban chains around his wrists as he moans and writhes, the Lake unnaturally still beneath his kicking feet. Draco squeezed Harry's hand. Perhaps words were needed.

"Harry?" The wizard next to him shifted again and turned his head so that it was leaning against the windowpane, his messy curls blending with the dark of the night-time scene. He smiled, and Draco felt himself relax. There was nothing panicked, nothing broken, nothing dark in Harry's eyes tonight. They were shining softly in the candlelight, effusing a calm acceptance that gave Harry's expression a level of serenity Draco had rarely seen.

"Tomorrow." The word sounded strangely leaden, strangely heavy against the gentle curve of Harry's smile. "It all ends tomorrow, Draco." Draco watched him, expecting a flicker of nerves, regret perhaps, or sadness. There was nothing. He was reminded of that moment, last June, when he had run into Potter outside Gryffindor Tower, so long ago... His eyes had been strange and otherworldly then, too. He took his hand from the window and pressed it against Harry's cheek, cupping the side of his face. Harry shivered at the touch. "You're cold." Draco laughed softly, sadly.

"I'm not. You thought I was." Harry's eyes fell open, where they had drifted shut at the feel of Draco's caress. This was about more than temperature. "You thought I had no heart. You were wrong. I saw you, after Black died. You were still, and calm, like a doll. But inside... You must have been screaming, Harry. You must have been in agony." Harry looked down, his lips pressing into a silent frown. Draco continued speaking, his voice soft and steady. "You know better than that now, Harry." Harry's name felt bittersweet on his tongue, like a gift. He relished it, said it again. "Harry, listen to me. I have a heart. You know this because I have bequeathed it to you. You see it every time I look at you, every time I forget that I am a Malfoy and you are secretly still a Gryffindor – you see it every time I smile. I hide everything from the world but nothing from you. You say that the war ends tomorrow, and I believe you. But I'm scared, Harry. I'm terrified of what that might mean, for you and for us. Please. Just tell me-" He broke off, suddenly afraid of speaking, afraid that asking the question might make it come true. "Harry. What are you going to do?" His voice was a whisper and he could feel the heat of Harry's gaze on him. His own eyes had drifted to the window when his terror had overcome him, shame preventing him from watching Harry as he had previously been.

Harry slid his hand from Draco's grasp, instead curling both arms around his drawn-up knees. There was an air of sadness about his countenance now, but the calm light of his eyes was unchanged. "I am going to do whatever I can, Draco. On my terms." There was a pause, and Harry tapped a gentle tune on the glass with his fingertips. He laughed, softly, and Draco finally raised his eyes. A smile had spread across Harry's face, broad and genuine. "It seems fitting that it should be Hogwarts. This is my home, my sanctuary, but its more than that. This is where I was born." Draco shuddered. It seemed to him as though the unspoken end to that sentence was '_this is where I will die_'.

"Alright, Harry. I won't question it. I'll fight for you." A sudden impulse struck him, and he drew Harry forwards, forcibly tipping him into an embrace. He shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see Weasley, or Granger, or Snape's pitying face. He just wanted Harry. "You're my boy," he whispered, "my Boy Who Lived. So you'd bloody better. You'd bloody well better." Harry didn't answer immediately, and Draco thought he would have to make do with the steady _thump-thump_ of his heart against his chest, imagining the rhythm to form a pattern, a cadence of reassuring words. Eventually, Harry spoke.

"Spend the night with me." It was not a question so much as an assumption. Draco inhaled slowly, buried his face in Harry's neck, suddenly aware of the spread of the other boy's hands on his back and his waist, the soft brush of breath heated against his ear, the smell of him, like magic and cotton and sweat.

"Yes," he breathed, his grip on Harry's robes tightening, his knuckles white. "Yes."

The Slytherin Dormitories were mostly empty, with a sad majority of students joining their parents either on the battlefield, or in a last-minute attempt to flee the country and the fate that would await them should they lose. The room for the Sixth-Year boys was deserted, and Draco paused by Blaise's bed, a sudden wave of sadness engulfing him as he realised that his old friends were gone. They would not be coming back.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a light hand on his shoulder. "You chose your side," Harry whispered. His tone was warm and his touch soothing. "And I think I should show you just how grateful I am." Draco couldn't help the smile that touched his lips. He turned slowly, his smile deepening. Harry had already taken off his robes and shirt, wearing now only a simple pair of black Muggle jeans. His eyes were dark behind his glasses and Draco was struck by a sudden want, a sudden need to tear those glasses from his trusting, angelic face, and bite him, kiss him, make him bleed and whimper, make him scream. Make him realise that he couldn't leave Draco because Draco wouldn't let him. Instead, he reached out with trembling hands, and delicately removed the spectacles, folding them and tossing them behind him onto the bedcovers where Blaise Zabini used to sleep.

Harry pressed a kiss to the inside of Draco's wrist as Draco removed his glasses. The world blurred, colours merged and deepened, the light from the candles oozing into the forest-green drapes, making the stone walls shine. He gently pushed Draco's robes from his shoulders, unbuttoned his undershirt with a soft caress of wandless magic, kissed the soft, white skin he found waiting for him. Draco looked like he was made of marble, or the gentle, creamy drift of a memory, trapped not within a Pensieve, but under the paper-thin skin of a man. Harry wondered, abstractly, whether Draco was actually a real living, breathing man at all, or just something he had dreamt, once.

Then Draco's hands were in his hair and Draco's lips were on his, Draco's tongue in his mouth, and everything was warm, wet, groaning pleasure, Harry's nihilistic fears silenced by the heat of another's body against his own.

Morning broke. Draco drifted awake as the charmed sunlight drifted in through the pretend window, spilling in from the deep earth, golden against his eyelids. He groaned, twisted and reached out a hand. His fingers brushed only the soft silk of his sheets and he sighed. Harry was gone, then. He pushed his eyes open and sat up, running a hand through his hair, suddenly barely able to move. Harry hadn't just gone. He had gone to get ready for war. "It ends today." The words sounded strangely morbid in his mouth and he shook his head. "Don't be stupid, Draco. You're sixteen. Nothing's over yet." He stood, and headed for the bathroom. If Harry had gone to prepare for the battle, Draco would make good his promises, and help him, any way he knew how.

He eventually found Harry in the Great Hall, talking to Severus Snape. His expression was tight and controlled and Draco could tell that he was having a hard time keeping his temper. "Good morning," he greeted, casually. He carefully avoided looking Harry in the eye, not wanting the other boy to feel awkward or guilty about leaving him to wake up alone. Harry, however, was not to be fooled.

"Draco!" He was smiling. Draco tried to shake his head, tried to make Harry see that it was fine and that nothing needed to be said in front of Snape, not now, not ever – but it was too late. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up. I thought you'd like your sleep. You must have been tired, and well, today isn't going to be exactly restful..." Draco scowled. Bloody Gryffindors.

"Promises promises," he muttered, raising an eyebrow. Snape made a strangled noise of disgust and left, waving a hand in Draco's direction. Harry laughed.

"Bye, Professor!" He grinned at Draco, unabashed.

"Shameless," Draco sighed. "Completely shameless." Harry nodded and kissed Draco chastely on the mouth.

"Of course. I did used to be a Gryffindor you know. That sort of puts paid to one's pride, doesn't it?" Draco laughed.

"Oh alright, I forgive you. Come on then, my incorrigible little lion. What damage have you done while I've been away?" Harry smiled and seemed about to answer, when he was distracted by the arrival of a group of witches and wizards, all similarly dressed in robes fit for battle. One particular wizard appeared to have stolen Harry's attention and Draco wrinkled his nose. The werewolf looked shabbier than ever.

"Remus!" Draco watched as Harry ran into the werewolf's waiting arms and sighed. It was sad, tragically so, that Harry should gain so much joy from the presence of his dead father's school friend, a man he barely knew.

"It's sad, isn't it?" Granger's voice made him jump, and he stared at her. She shrugged and gestured toward Lupin. "He's all Harry's got. And Harry is all he's got, after..." Draco nodded.

"Yes. After." They watched together, as Harry explained something, hands gesturing wildly, and Lupin shook his head, protesting, clutching at Harry's shoulders. Draco sighed again and he saw Granger smile. "What?" Her smile grew.

"Oh. Well I was just thinking. That what I said wasn't exactly true." At the other end of the Hall, Harry pointed at Draco and Lupin looked up, his amber eyes boring sharply into Draco's. "He's got you." Draco swallowed and nodded slowly at Lupin. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes he does."

By mid-morning Harry was beginning to get anxious. "It doesn't feel right, does it?" He whispered to Draco. "Why is he waiting? It's like he's giving us time, giving us a chance to get more people. Giving us a change to strengthen and prepare. Why would he do that, Draco?"

Draco shrugged, suggested that maybe the Dark lord wasn't ready yet either – but Harry shook his head. He forgot to whisper, and his voice was loud and sharp in the suddenly quiet hall. "No! Of course he's ready! He was ready days ago, he's been preparing for months! You know he has! He knew this was coming, he knew it would be today! It has to be today, I've seen it!"

He stormed off, angry and panicked, leaving Draco to stand alone by the Slytherin table, clutching at his left forearm, his heart thumping.

By noon, it became apparent that no-one else was coming. Harry was furious, desperate. "There can't be more than two-hundred of us, Draco! There's more schoolchildren than there are grown wizards! What happened? What in Merlin's name happened?" Draco couldn't answer. He was feeling a similar sense of bewilderment. What kind of world was it in which teenage witches and wizards were more willing to sacrifice themselves than the ministry officials who were charged with protecting them?

By mid-afternoon, Draco could see Harry's courage fading. "Why is he waiting, Draco? What does he want from me?" Draco secretly thought that the Dark Lord wanted exactly what had come to pass. The calm from the previous night had vanished, only to be replaced by a heady sense of panic that left Harry's face pale and his voice thin. There was no trace of a hero here.

By late afternoon, defeat seemed inevitable. Harry was slumped over on the Gryffindor table, spinning his wand idly in his hands, muttering. Remus Lupin was sitting at his side, trying desperately to rouse him. It didn't seem to be working. Draco sighed and headed over to Dumbledore. The older wizard was in deep conversation with a Patronus, which close inspection revealed to be not a stag, but a doe. Not Harry's, then. As Draco approached, Dumbledore glanced up at him, before dismissing the doe. Draco bristled. There should be no secrets on a battlefield. "Harry won't win," he announced, glaring at Dumbledore. "Not like this! If you have any idea, any idea where the Dark Lord is, then for all our sakes, tell him!" Dumbledore blinked.

"My dear boy! Harry knows where Tom is!" Draco shook his head, feeling himself on the point of screming with frustration.

"Does he look like he knows where he is? Headmaster! He has no bloody idea, and its torturing him! The Dark Lord needs no more effective battle plan than this! Tell him!" Dumbledore brushed past Draco without a word.

The sun was setting. Harry approached Draco carefully, his head hung. "I'm sorry, Draco." Draco shrugged. Nothing to be sorry for – nothing he could let Harry feel sorry for, anyway. "I should have... I should have known. Dumbledore thought it would be obvious. You would have known, would have seen it. If I'd... If I'd told you what I know." Draco stared at him, mystified.

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Potter!" Harry smiled at him weakly.

"Tell me, Draco. Do you know what a Horcrux is?" Draco felt his heart turn to ice.

"I do."

It was approaching midnight. Two-hundred odd witches and wizards were standing on the steps of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, wands drawn, scanning the skies, the forest, the lake, for any sign of movement. Nobody spoke. Harry was standing at the front, Draco on his left, Remus on his right. Dumbledore was next to him. He shivered and closed his eyes, pictured a door, stepped through.

The night sky was dark and cold. He could feel it, biting into him as he soared across the countryside, screaming with rage and fear. The Potter boy had the locket. Potter and his confounded Malfoy pet! Potter and damnable Albus Dumbledore! They had the locket, the ring, snake, the cup, all of it, all of it, and Snape! Severus Snape, a double-crossing coward! Harry cried out as Voldemort's mind filled with a burst of satisfaction and the image of Snape, dead on the ground, his eyes still shining with the green glow of the killing curse. He tore himself free from Voldemort's mind and let out a howl.

"Snape!" Draco's hand tightened, vice-like, on his forearm. "He's dead!" Dumbledore let out a cry of his own, before rushing to Harry's side.

"But Harry! Harry did he do it? Did he find them?" Harry nodded, face white.

"Yes. We're ready." His voice was a sickly whisper, and he looked as though he would faint. Dumbledore reached out a hand, to pat him on the arm, perhaps, but changed his mind.

"We will all be here for you, Harry. When he arrives." Lupin's voice was hoarse and it seemed to Draco as though he looked even older, the moonlight picking out the lines that had carved themselves into his forehead, illuminating the scars that littered his visage, making his hair shine silver. Harry smiled, sadly, staring past Dumbledore, out into the night.

"Soon."

Harry was right. Not a quarter of an hour had passed before Draco felt it. The skin on his arm began to burn, and he gasped. He glanced around for Snape, to see if the Potions Master was suffering equally – only to remember that he was gone. Murdered. He swallowed convulsively, looking up at the sky. A sudden rush of darkness; the moon had been blotted out. Somewhere at the back of the crowd a woman screamed. The Dementors were coming.

Harry turned to Draco, placing his hands either said of Draco's face. "Listen to me." His voice was low and urgent. "Draco, listen. I want you to know- I want you to forgive me." Draco's eyes widened. He could feel fear building in his stomach, a sick heat that spread into his veins like poison.

"I don't need-"

"No." Harry shook his head. Determined. "Please. I have to know that you forgive me." Draco laughed, hysteria making him shake, his skin taking on a bluish tinge in the light of Lupin's 'Lumos'.

"I won't. I won't say it!" He stared at his lover, and laughed again. It sounded like a sob. "I know what you're going to do, Harry! I know what you aren't telling me! It's not noble, its not heroic! It's cowardly! You're going to just give up! You're going to let him win! You're going to _leave me here to die alone_." Harry flinched and lowered his hands to the curve of Draco's neck. He leant closer, placed his mouth to Draco's ear.

"I will never leave you." He pulled back and smiled. "Those we love never truly leave us, Draco." Over Harry's shoulder, Draco could see Dumbledore grimace, as though in pain. Harry kept smiling, oblivious. "I promise." He drew Draco down for a kiss, and how could Draco have stopped him? He kissed back, and when they parted, his face was wet with their mingled tears. A second scream, male this time. Voldemort had arrived.

The battle started so quickly that Draco thought he must have fallen into a dream, into a nightmare. He was dazzled by the light of curses, the gratuitous red of a stunning spell, the bewildering, bedazzling green of the killing curse. He ducked a nasty looking jinx, felt a wave of cold, foul magic brush past him, singeing his robes, pushed past the writhing, mutated body of a Seventh Year and found himself face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her eyes were the darkest Draco had every seen, and for a second he felt every drop of blood that they shared burn within him. "Little Draco Malfoy!" Bellatrix screeched! "My little baby nephew! Did you like what I did to Potter! You did, didn't you! He's powerful and deranged, the Black blood in you loves the madness, doesn't it Draco! You let him touch you, let him fuck you!"

"Silencio!" She wasn't expecting it, and his anger gave the spell power. "You will not speak of him to me!" Bellatrix snarled, raised her wand, and froze. She was staring, uncomprehending, past Draco's left ear, the beginnings of a smile spreading across her face. Draco turned, a sudden rush of fear making his wand-arm shake, and his breath come in uneasy stutters, his heartbeat juddering, as though ceasing to beat would stop everything, stop what was going to happen, stop what Draco knew, had always known he was going to see.

Harry was standing opposite Voldemort. He had taken off his cloak, and was standing in just his godfather's robes. Voldemort was saying something, taunting, his mutilated face twisted with glee, with expectation, but Draco couldn't hear it over the roar of blood in his ears and the weak, nauseated protests echoing uselessly from his own mouth. Voldemort was raising his wand, but Harry wasn't raising his, this couldn't _be_, couldn't be happening, and Draco was running but he was too late, far too late, because Bellatrix was laughing and Hermione Granger was screaming but Dumbledore was holding her back and Voldemort raised his arm and Harry spread his arms wide, and everything was green, a brilliant shade of green, that illuminated Harry's pale skin, bounced off his glasses, shining too brightly so that Draco couldn't even see his eyes, and he didn't make a sound, not a sound, just fell and fell and everything went dark.

The rest of the battle passed in a blur. Draco didn't know who killed Voldemort, in the end. Didn't know if Voldemort had realised his final mistake – that in letting himself be killed, Harry Potter had succeeded in destroying the final part of Voldemort's soul, save the original, and that Voldemort now had as much to fear as the rest of them. Didn't know if it was the Avada Kedavra, or if no one would use that curse again because how could they, after seeing it envelop Harry in its poisonous light? Draco didn't know if Voldemort realised he was about to die, didn't know if he begged or pleaded or screamed in pain and fear and rage. He didn't care. The seconds after Harry had fallen had been silent. No one had moved. No one had spoken. Then Voldemort had laughed, and Draco had started running again, falling to his knees beside the Boy Who Lived, pressed his head to Harry's chest, desperately listening, desperately clingining to Harry's hands, calling his name, calling for him.

It was in the closing minutes, as the last Death Eaters were vanquished and Voldemort's corpse burnt, that Draco realised. He stroked a hand over Harry's chest, and his fingertips brushed the soft wool underneath the ornate black and silver robes. Draco's sobs paused as he held his breath, pushing the robes slightly to one side. Even through the aching film of his tears, he could see it. Harry was wearing his jumper. It was a ridiculous, pointless gesture, such a Gryffindor thing to do, so Harry.

"Harry," he whispered. "I'm here. Its okay now, its fine. I'm here with you." He rested his head back onto Harry's unmoving chest, and lay still, his arms tight around the slender boy. He felt smaller than Draco remembered and the silence of his deadened heart was louder than a scream.

It was over.

**Authors Note:**

Final Chapter – Requiem

December 2009. Its been two and a half years since I looked at this story. I apologise for that – it seems my commitments to school and work have got in the way of my writing – an unforgivable lapse for an aspiring writer. The consequence of this unintended (yet I think unavoidable) hiatus are significant. Firstly, my writing style has changed – perhaps not drastically, but probably noticeably, so forgive the disjointed feel.

I have fallen out of touch with my variations of these characters, and have had great difficulty overcoming the immaturity of some of my characterisation. (My Harry is practically schizophrenic in the way he changes, chapter to chapter. Apologies.)

Despite this, I decided that Rogue had to be ended. Perhaps I have not constructed such an elaborate battle as the one which I found to be outlined in my notes and plans, but I hope the ending has done the rest of the story justice. (That is the difficulty of having so many climactic moments in one story – the actual high point, the moment when all the drama is meant to come to a head – is somewhat sadly eclipsed.)

Once again, forgive the hiatus and its effect on the ending of this story. Thank you to everyone who has read it, and watch out for the epilogue, coming soon.


	19. Epilogue: Requiem

**Disclaimer:** Characters owned by J K Rowling

**Summary:** Everyone has a path, but you don't have to go down it - do you? AU. After the Ministry, something about Harry has changed. But for better, or for worse?

**Rogue.**

**Requiem**

It it September, and in the town of Godric's Hollow, the sky is unusually clear, the air unusually warm. The trees have just started to turn, their leaves beginning to darken to their traditional cacophony of burning colour, scarlets and crimsons, umber, vermillion, but for now they remain mostly green. A man is walking slowly through the local cemetery. His feet make no noise on the grass, still wet with dew, and his shadow slips evenly over the polished headstones, purple as a bruise. The sun warms his white-blonde hair, casts his pale skin with a pinkish hue, but does not reach his eyes. They are cold and blue and dead. His mouth is a thin line, and it is only by the slight tightening of his eyes when he passes the seemingly unobtrusive war memorial, that you can tell he is in pain.

As he reaches the far end of the graveyard, his footsteps slow. He wanders underneath the trees, traces the bark with his fingertips, stares up through the canopy of emerald green, into the sky beyond.

Eventually, he finds it. An ordinary gravestone, weather-beaten marble. Though the first two names are beginning to fade, the third is newly cut. The man sinks into a crouch and presses a fist to his mouth. He looks as though he is about to cry, or be sick. He reaches out with his other hand and traces the letters of the third name. 'Harry,' he mouths, silently, mournfully. His hand falls to his side, useless, fingers trailing over the numerous petals, from the numerous bouquets, the numerous wreaths of large, funereal flowers that are slowly but surely beginning to decay.

The man sits down, suddenly, on the grass. He stares at the marble stone for what seems like an age. Somewhere in a nearby tree, a bird is singing. It is an unusual call, far more melodious than anything the residents of Godric's Hollow usually hear. It sounds like a song of mourning. The blonde man reaches into his coat, pulls out what looks like a stick. He waves it, and a drift of gold falls from the end. The magic settles over the tomb, and it shines brightly for a second, the marble effervescent with a pale light.

It fades, and the man sits for a moment more, staring slightly past the grave, as though at someone watching in the distance. He makes a sound – an aborted cry of longing, perhaps, and grimaces. He brushes a hand across his eyes, leans forwards on his knees to press a kiss to the stone, whispering something, a quiet goodbye, stands, and is gone.

The birdsong fades, and Harry James Potter is left to sleep, peacefully, in the quiet earth of his home, surrounded by the bones of his loving parents. The gravestone is unchanged, save for a subtle postscript, carved in a flowing hand. It simply says, '_Farewell_'.

**Authors Note:**

At last, an ending. Thank you to everyone who read Rogue – particular thanks to those who reviewed it, and to those who enjoyed it. I hope you can forgive my early attempts at characterisation and drama and can appreciate my growth as a writer over the two/three years it has taken me to finish this.

Once again, and for the final time, thank you. I hope to see you again with future adventures. I'm not done with Mr. Potter yet.

With Gratitude,

Freddy.


End file.
